


Lambs For Slaughter

by ShesLikeTexas



Series: Crossovers [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Demons, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:27:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28271643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShesLikeTexas/pseuds/ShesLikeTexas
Summary: Re-write of Supernatural's Season 9, Episode 7: Bad BoysWhen Dean is sent to Sonny's Boy's Home in New York after getting picked up by the police, he meets Sonny's best friend from Virginia, 24 year old Aaron Hotchner. The two start a friendship that is brought to an abrupt end when John Winchester comes for his son two months later. How will they react when the BAU team crosses paths with the Winchesters twelve years later?
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Crossovers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2099712
Comments: 70
Kudos: 322





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I mainly have this story written, just finishing up the last chapter...it will be around 30k and 5 chapters. I had this idea in my head for a while and ended up putting it on paper, so I hope you like it!

As he watched the steam rise from the boiling water inside the cracked ceramic pot atop the rusted stove, Dean rubbed a hand across his face and chewed on the inside of his cheek to hold in a groan. The thin box of SpongeBob-shaped Kraft Macaroni and Cheese was the last of the food tucked away in their shitty motel room in Upstate New York. Their dad had _promised_ he wouldn’t be away for more than two weeks this time, but when he called half an hour ago and told Dean that his hunt of the Rugaru was more complicated than anticipated, Dean had the “ _audacity_ ” to ask him about money for food. 

Really, he should have known better than to question John’s judgment.

According to his father, Dean was sixteen now and perfectly capable of finding a way to put food on the table for Sam until he returned. It wasn’t that he _disagreed_ with his father, he just wished he’d known about this _before_ they ran out of money. Dean wasn’t sure he would have been able to stretch the sparse cash his father gave them any more than he had in the past two and a half weeks, but he would have at least started searching for a job earlier. Even if he went out and got a job now, the paycheck wouldn’t come in time, and sure, he could go hustle some pool, but there was a chance he wouldn’t be able to get into the bars and he’d definitely be home too late to feed Sammy anyway. 

He needed a quick solution. Dean poured the stiff noodles into the water before grabbing the last of the half-gallon of milk and small butter packets from the sparse fridge. While he waited for the macaroni to soften, Dean walked out of the small kitchen to check on his brother, who was laying across the stained grey carpet coloring on a plain sheet of grid paper. His small army men were strewn out around him. 

“How’s it going, Sammy?”

His brother shrugged and moved his hand to the side to show Dean his picture. “Fine. I’m just drawing out a board game we could maybe play later. Something like Chess, maybe.” 

“How about Checkers?” Dean shot back with a small grimace. Sam was only eleven and already so much smarter than Dean ever was. He wouldn’t be able to pick up Chess even if he tried, John had said as much the one time he asked about the game.

Sam gave a slight roll of his eyes and continued his drawing. “Well we need something to keep us occupied, don’t we? I heard you on the phone with Dad. He isn’t coming back soon, is he?” 

“Ah, no. The hunt isn’t as easy as he thought, so…”

“But didn’t we spend the last of the money he gave us on groceries? He was only supposed to be gone for two weeks!” 

The frustration was evident in his brother’s voice, and Dean shifted unsteadily on his feet. He was _sixteen_ now, he was old enough to put food on the table. It was _fine_. He could handle this. “Don’t worry, Sammy, I’ll figure something out. The Mac & Cheese will be ready soon, and then I’ll pick up something for dinner. What sounds good?” 

Sam eyed him suspiciously. “I thought…”

Dean shook his head, “It’s fine. What do you want?” 

“I guess I’d like two peanut butter sandwiches for dinner. If you’re sure.” 

“I’m sure,” Dean lied, his jaw working anxiously while he tried to figure out what the hell he was going to do. He walked back into the kitchen and strained the macaroni the best he could, only slightly burning himself with the steaming water in the process, and stirred in the rest of the ingredients. Once lunch was finished, Dean divided it into two bowls, making sure to put more into Sam’s. He was still growing after all. 

They ate at the table that was barely big enough for the two of them and finished off their lunch relatively quickly. Sam was tired after their morning sparring practice, as dictated by their father, and decided to have a nap before their evening walk. Dean didn’t want to keep his brother locked up inside the motel room, so he took Sam outside almost every day if the weather was nice. There was a decent park a few blocks away and a set of hiking trails that hadn’t experienced anything unusual in the last few years (Dean checked). 

“Okay, I’m going to pick up some food, alright?”

Sam grunted his agreement from where he was wriggling underneath the sheets. 

“And you have your phone?”

“ _Yes_ , Dean.”

“And your knife?” 

“You _know_ I do.” 

Dean sighed and tried to shake the uneasy feeling he had of leaving his brother alone. He hated being separated from Sammy. “Okay. Smell you later, bitch.” 

“Later, Jerk.” 

XX

Dean tugged his long sleeved flannel shirt tighter around his body against the chill and looked up at the flashing sign above. He didn’t see any security cameras outside of the po-dunk supermarket, so he didn’t think he could be caught that way. Just a quick in and out. Grab the peanut butter and bread for now, and then come up with a plan for the rest of the food after that. Easy peasy. 

His plan would have worked, too, except on his way out, he bumped into a mustached deputy with a toothpick sticking out between his teeth. The shop owner’s cries of distress were enough for him to stop Dean’s retreat with a tight grip on his arm, but Dean’s training had him twisting out of the way on instinct. The deputy was quicker than anticipated, however, and wrapped both arms around his waist to hold him still. Dean let out a growl and thrust his elbow backwards into the deputy’s nose. The faint crack that echoed was simultaneously satisfying and nauseating as he sprinted down the street. His escape only lasted another minute or so before another cop came out of freakin’ _nowhere_ and had him pinned down over the hood of the patrol car with an _ooph_. The deputy from before caught up with them and cursed loudly, keeping one hand around his broken nose as blood trickled down his face. 

“You really, really shouldn’t have done that, kid.” He snarled at Dean with stained teeth. Dean rolled his eyes in response but kept his mouth shut as he attempted to figure out a way to escape. He needed to get the food back to Sammy. He raised his cheek to figure out what happened to the bread and felt his heart sink as he saw the crumpled up bag sitting in the middle of the road, already run over by a passing car. 

The scene distracted him enough to be startled when handcuffs were brought across his wrist, the cool metal digging into the skin more than was probably necessary. He had a brief moment of panic of what his dad would say about him getting arrested. 

Shit.

Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good, and Dean would most likely spend the next week hiding blossoming bruises from his brother. 

“Sonny will take care of this punk, won’t he?” 

Who the hell was Sonny?

XX

Aaron jolted awake when the wheels of the plane touched down on the runway. It had been a quick flight, but he was pleased that he was able to get some rest for an uninterrupted hour. He was still exhausted, a week long trial spent in the courthouse in D.C. will do that to you. His first major win since graduating law school at George Washington and starting at the District Attorney’s office. His superiors told him to go out and celebrate, which...was not Aaron’s strong suit. His idea of a celebration was having dinner and a nice glass of wine at home with his wife, but as Haley was out visiting her mother, who was recovering from radiation for Colon cancer, Aaron decided to fly out to see Sonny for the week. 

They’d grown up together from the time Sonny’s family moved to Manassas when he was five and the two boys hit it off almost immediately when Aaron offered a turn on his scooter. The two of them were inseparable for nearly eleven years until Sonny got involved with a neighborhood gang and they grew apart, much to Aaron’s dismay. It took a few arrests on his part and a stint in a correctional facility, but Sonny eventually separated himself from the gang by moving out of Virginia and standing on his own two feet again. He was Aaron’s best man at his wedding after getting cleaned up and Aaron was the main investor when Sonny decided to buy a house in Upstate New York and renovate it into a Boy’s Home to help troubled young men before they ended up in prison. 

Aaron visited at least two or three times a year to check up on the home and see Sonny, so it wasn’t completely out of the blue to call him after the jury found the defendant guilty and invited himself out to New York. He was used to traveling, so Aaron never checked a bag, rather meticulously packing everything he needed for the week into his carry-on. He bypassed the luggage carousels and avoided hurrying passengers as he walked out the airport doors to the designated pick-up areas. As always, he offered to take a cab out to the house, but Sonny insisted on picking him up. So Aaron wasn’t surprised to see his friend leaning against his beat-up black SUV, his dark eyes searching the crowd. When they met his own, Sonny’s face broke out into a smile and he laughed heartily as he pulled Aaron into a hug and clapped him on the back. 

“It’s great to see you, Brother. Congrats on your first big win!” 

Aaron pulled away with a matching grin and placed his bag into the trunk Sonny held open for him before sliding into the passenger seat. “It’s good to see you too, and thank you. It was a long week, so I’m glad we were able to get the conviction.” 

Sonny nodded his head and pulled into traffic. “Serial killer, right? I followed a bit of it on the news.”

“That’s correct.” He didn’t want to go into many details due to the gruesome nature of the crimes. Alexander Stevens had kidnapped, raped, and tortured his victims to death over the course of an entire month. Altogether the prosecution was able to find evidence linking him to nine murdered women between the ages of nineteen and twenty one. Aaron hated the fact that he couldn’t prevent the deaths, but at least he could get justice for their families. “He got what he deserved. Life in prison with no chance for parole. His psychopathy doesn’t allow him to feel remorse for any of the lives he took.” 

He watched his friend shudder at the wheel. “At least he’s off the streets and can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

“Exactly,” Aaron agreed readily. “How are the kids?” 

The smile was back on Sonny’s face. “They’re tough, but you know how much I like a challenge. They just need to see that they’re in a safe environment.” 

They spent the next hour of the drive discussing the boys who were staying at the home and how much each of them had improved since arriving. Sonny followed a strict schedule to keep the boys busy either doing chores or homework, while still giving them plenty of time to stretch their legs and be kids without the pressure of judging eyes on them, which usually led to the deviant behavior in the first place. A need to fit in. At the home, Sonny ensured that everyone felt comfortable enough to be themselves. 

It was one of the reasons why he was Aaron’s best friend. Where Sonny was structured, but easy going where it mattered, Aaron was always extremely serious, focused, and determined. It was how he graduated at the top of his class in high school, college, and law school. However, he needed a balance. Haley tried, most of the time, but Sonny never let Aaron get away with the stick up his ass for more than a few hours when they were together. 

When they finally arrived at their destination, a wooden two story pale blue house built in the sixties that the two of them renovated themselves, Aaron let go of a sigh of relief. He always felt more at home the moment he stepped foot on the property he helped bring to life. The summers between finishing law school and starting at the firm were spent in New York taking apart the rotted wood and replacing it with sturdier material. Aaron sweated heavier and gained more muscle definition while building the wrap-around white porch than he had since playing football in high school. The roof had taken some finagling, but they managed to replace the shingles without falling or breaking any bones. 

“Looks good, doesn’t it?” Sonny beamed with the honest pride he always wore when showing off the house. 

Aaron hummed his agreement and noticed the property was suspiciously empty. Then he remembered the time of year. “The kids in school?” 

“Yup. The bus should drop the boys off around four. They’ll have their chores to finish and dinner to eat before they have a few hours to themselves.” 

Sonny led Aaron up the familiar porch steps and through the threshold. “The guest room is still the same,” he gestured up the stairs. “As of right now we still have two empty beds in case more boys are brought to the house.” 

Aaron nodded and headed up the creaky stairs. He examined the pictures hanging off the wood frame with a light smile dusting his lips, remembering their many hikes through the surrounding woods to find the perfect nature shots for decoration for the Boy’s Home. He wondered if he’d still be able to find the small waterfall they’d discovered with ease. 

His room was largely the same as his last visit, though the corkboard included postcards of Aaron’s most recent travels, along with the wedding photo of him and Haley. She looked beautiful in her dress and he decided to take a picture from his phone and send it to her. Aaron was disappointed that they couldn’t celebrate together, but she promised to cook a nice meal for him when they were both home. 

Before he could take the time to unpack, the doorbell rang downstairs. Aaron debated for a moment before deciding that Sonny could handle whoever was at the door. He folded the clothes from his small suitcase and tucked them into the homemade dresser, then took his toiletries into the private bathroom that he and Sonny would share. While mentoring teenage boys was fulfilling, enduring their bathroom habits was not. After that he unbuttoned his long-sleeved shirt in exchange for a simple black t-shirt. He allowed himself a moment of relief to not be forced to dress in a suit every day. 

By the time Aaron made it downstairs, he followed the sound of voices into the living room. His eyebrows shot up in surprise to see a boy, probably around the age of sixteen, handcuffed to the armrest of the pale yellow couch. His patched up dirty jeans and torn flannel dimmed the light of his green eyes, and his brunette hair was in disarray. Judging by the coloring eye and bandaged nose of the deputy beside him, there was an altercation while bringing the boy in. 

Sonny swept a hand towards Aaron when all three sets of eyes landed on him. The boy’s glare was outwardly nonchalant with a hint of suspicion. He didn’t seem threatened by the appearance of another man. 

“Deputy Sanders, meet my good friend, Aaron Hotchner. Hotch is one of the best damn prosecutors on the Eastern Seaboard.” 

The boy’s eyes widened in alarm. 

Aaron rolled his eyes at the introduction and shook the Deputy’s hand. “He’s exaggerating. It’s nice to meet you.” He turned his gaze onto the boy who had straightened on the couch, leaning away from Aaron. The movement slid the sleeves of his flannel up to expose the boy’s forearms, which to Aaron’s surprise were covered into small scratches and bites. “And who do we have here?” 

The Deputy shot the boy a harsh glare before turning back to Aaron and Sonny. “Dean Winchester. I was just tellin’ Sonny here that we caught him trying to steal from the market up the road. Gave us a hard time and fought back when we tried to bring him in. We filed the paperwork and let him make his phone call to his folks, but it went to voicemail so he left a message. Thought it best to bring him here until someone can come get him.” 

Aaron nodded and looked to Sonny expectantly. “That’s fine. Thanks for bringing him in, Luke.” He turned to give Dean the riot act. “This is a Boy’s Home, a place that is meant to help troubled young men like yourself. A place where you can learn discipline and respect in lieu of being thrown in jail. We don’t bring judgment here and we definitely don’t make you talk when you don’t want to. It’s a safe place to stay while you work out your issues. You’re free to roam the land, but the property is heavily gated so you can’t simply run off without permission.” He chuckled and glanced at Hotch. “Trust me, it’s impossible to slip through our fingers, so you’re better off taking our word for it. As the newcomer, you’ll have the same responsibilities as the other boys but without the privileges. Those come with good behavior.”

The boy didn’t acknowledge any of the information Sonny presented him with, but the furrow between his brow told them that he was listening. The Deputy cleared his throat and stood up to move towards the armrest. “Well, it sounds like you’ve got it covered. Email me the report once everything is said and done.” He unlocked the cuffs and tucked them into his pouch, then shook both of their hands once more before heading toward the door. 

Once he was gone, Aaron leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “Dean, can you tell me where the cuts on your arms came from?” If the boy was being abused, then Aaron couldn’t simply sit back and let it happen. 

Dean shrugged, utterly unconcerned. “A werewolf.”

_Huh_. Aaron would normally assume that Dean was joking or trying to play off the injuries, but Aaron had always been exceptional at reading people, and the boy didn’t exhibit any behavior that indicated that he was lying. Dean’s jaw was steady besides the loose shrug, his body was relaxed in an unconcerned fashion, and his hands were still. The boy might actually believe that a werewolf attacked him. 

“Can I try my dad again?” He asked with a frown. His foot began tapping against the rug on the wooden floor anxiously, and his gaze darted towards the phone. Now _that_ was the kind of behavior Aaron was familiar with. 

Sonny nodded and pushed to his feet. “Be my guest, but Hotch will be here to supervise.” 

Dean rolled his eyes and rushed towards the rotary phone on the end table. He shot a quick glance at Aaron, who had to admit he was curious, and entered a number after a few failed attempts. Aaron couldn’t blame him. He was actually impressed Dean managed it at all. 

As Dean held the receiver up to one ear, his other hand curled into a fist underneath his jaw. His eyes closed briefly as the ringer sounded and snapped open when someone must have answered on the other line. 

“Dad! It’s me, did you get my message?” 

He chewed on the inside of his cheek while his father answered. Dean blew out a breath of relief at what Aaron assumed was a confirmation. 

“Oh thank god, Bobby will take care of Sammy.” Aaron was surprised, but he held his questions in as he watched Dean grow agitated and then drop his jaw. “But I’m _not_ lost on a hunt!” His light green eyes found Aaron’s dark ones before flickering towards the open window again. His voice lowered to a whisper, although Aaron was close enough to hear it. “You’re just going to leave me here?” 

Aaron’s alarm grew when he heard that. Dean’s father was going to abandon him? That was child endangerment and a very serious crime. 

“How long will you be gone?” Dean’s shoulders sagged and his entire demeanor changed from the confident, unbothered boy to a scared, devastated child. “I...I know I messed up, I’m sorry. But please, Dad!” 

Dean winced at whatever his father said. Judging by the increased volume that was loud enough for Aaron to hear, he assumed the boy was being berated. If it was possible, Dean curled even further into himself. “You’re right. I’m sorry sir. Yes sir. I understand.” 

He hung up the phone loosely and seemed to stay frozen and stiff for a few long moments. Before Aaron could ask him any questions, he watched the mental walls come up around Dean’s mind and his face smooth out any outward emotion that was anything other than cockiness. Dean turned back towards him with a forced smirk that didn’t reach his light eyes. “Guess I’m staying for a while.” 

In that moment, Aaron wanted to understand Dean Winchester. He wanted to learn about his past to determine how the boy grew to be so adept in the art of manipulation and self-control. What he just witnessed was beyond the skillset of a normal sixteen year old boy. However, in order to understand Dean, Aaron would need to get the boy to trust him. 

And asking after him the moment he was just abandoned by his father was _not_ the way to do it. 

Aaron was careful to keep any pitying looks off of his face as he rose to his feet and nodded. “You might not believe it, Dean, but we are happy to have you. I know Sonny will take care of you.” He jerked his chin towards the stairs, offering him an escape to come to terms with his new reality for the foreseeable future. “There is a free bedroom up the stairs and to the left. You’re free to choose whichever bed you would like.”

Dean stared at him for longer than was comfortable, eventually swallowing thickly and rushing past Aaron without so much as a word. 

Aaron watched the boy hurry up the steps before heading into the kitchen to find Sonny. His friend clapped him on the shoulder and squeezed. “That one will be difficult.” 

His lips twitched upwards and he drew his focus towards the grocery list Sonny was writing down on a thin piece of paper. “You’ll be great for him, just like all the others. Need any help?”

Since the rest of the boys would be dropped off from school within the hour, Aaron offered to drive to the grocery store. “It’s the least I can do for you letting me stay here.” 

Sonny pointed the pen at him after marking off the last item on the list. “You’re used to a two person household, Hotch. I don’t know if you can handle the sheer amount of food it takes to feed seven teenage boys. They’re black holes, I’m telling you.” 

Aaron couldn’t hold back his snort. “Well, according to you, I’m ‘one of the best damn prosecutors on the Eastern Seaboard.’ I assure you, I can afford it.” 

“Can’t argue with that logic,” Sonny muttered with a smug grin, then fished his keys out of his jeans pocket before tossing them to Aaron. “Not a scratch.” 

“You mean besides the already chipped paint and dent on the passenger side door?” He teased, snatching the grocery list off the counter and ducking out of the kitchen as Sonny tossed the pen at him. 

As he slid into behind the wheel, Aaron glanced up out of habit to examine his surroundings and caught a face in one of the upstairs windows. Dean looked to be sitting on the inside sill with his forehead pressed against the glass. His eyes were closed until Aaron started the ignition in the SUV, and then they flew open with sudden alertness. 

His sensitivity to unexpected noises made Aaron pause for a moment before pulling away down the gravel road. On the ride to the market he outlined the symptoms to watch for in Dean that would point to abuse or neglect. Unexplained injuries, how he interacts with the other boys, if he chose to hide food for later. He didn’t know what Dean’s home situation was, but it was clear that his father wasn’t as attentive as he should be if he refused to come pick up his son after getting arrested. It sounded like another man, Bobby, was sent to care for someone named Sammy, but Aaron wasn’t sure how they tied together or why Bobby wouldn’t help Dean as well. 

As he gathered the groceries from the list Sonny provided, a thought occurred to him. The elderly man behind the counter was dressed in simple tan slacks and a green uniformed collared shirt with a monogrammed apron slung over his clothes. The name “Jack Shaw, Owner” was stitched into the left breast pocket.  
  
“Mr. Shaw,” He greeted with a nod. “My name is Aaron Hotchner. I’m a friend of Sonny’s and was at the Boy’s Home earlier when they brought a boy in. Were you working when he attempted to rob your store?”

Mr. Shaw’s nose scrunched up with distaste. “I was. This is a pretty quiet part of town; I don’t get thieves very often.” 

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Aaron said with just enough sympathy to earn him more information. “Could you tell me what the boy tried to steal?” 

The owner finished bagging the items and pushed them towards Aaron as he paid, then adjusted his glasses. “It was strange. A boy that age, I was expecting him to go for the beer, or perhaps a bottle of wine. When I looked back over the tape, I was surprised to see that he only took a loaf of bread and a can of peanut butter of all things. What would make him do something like that?” 

The knot in Aaron’s stomach twisted a little tighter. He gave Mr. Shaw a slight grimace before picking up the bags. “Hunger.”

Mr. Shaw gave him a strange look, but Aaron simply thanked him and went about loading the groceries into the SUV. By the time he returned to the house, the boys had been dropped off from school and a few of them were starting on their outside chores. He didn’t recognize most of them, but a familiar thirteen year old named Jackson was bounding down the deck stairs as Aaron put the car in park. 

He couldn’t help the wide grin that stretched across his face as he opened the door to greet the kid with a tight hug. Jackson had been at Sonny’s for his last two visits and they’d grown quite close in that short amount of time. The boy was originally sent to the home because his incessant bullying had escalated into vandalism. It didn’t take him long after being removed from his home life to settle into the kind and caring boy everyone knew him to truly be. Aaron was the one who discovered the physical abuse Jackson was enduring from his father. Apparently his mother had committed suicide a fear years earlier after a long battle with depression and his father blamed Jackson for her death. Once the cause of his behavior was discovered, Aaron encouraged Sonny to ensure Jackson began seeing a therapist almost immediately while his father was arrested. He didn’t have jurisdiction, but Aaron consulted a few times for the prosecution. 

“Hotch! Sonny said there was a surprise for us, but I didn’t think it would be you!” 

Aaron chuckled lightly and clapped the boy on the back. “It’s great to see you, Jackson. It was a last minute visit after I finished my first case in Virginia. Help me with the groceries?” 

Jackson nodded and called for another boy, a thin fifteen year old with fire red hair named Dylan, to help. The three of them were able to carry all of the bags inside to the marble kitchen countertop in only two trips. 

Sonny thanked them all and then called in the boys to introduce them to Aaron. Everyone except Dean filed in around them. 

“For those of you who don’t know, this is my best friend, Aaron Hotchner. He’s the one I mentioned that helped me buy and renovate this place so that all of you might have a place to sleep instead of a jail cell.” A few of the boys who had been there longer grinned, but the newer ones’ eyes widened. “He’s a prosecutor up in D.C., but he was also the star quarterback in high school, so if you have any questions ranging from law to sports, he’s your man.”

Aaron shook his head in exasperation but took his friend’s queue to continue. “It’s nice to meet you all. I’ll be here for a week, and during my previous visits I cooked all of the dinners during my stay. I usually ask if someone would like to volunteer to help me,” he gave Jackson a little smile, “but I think that responsibility will go to Dean.” 

Sonny clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Alright, Andrew and Jackson, help me unload these groceries while everyone else gets back to your chores. If you want free time after dinner, they need to be finished before we eat.” 

The boys started into motion immediately, something Aaron was pleased to see. Everyone seemed to really consider this place their home. Sonny was doing an excellent job, of which Aaron had no doubt.

His friend turned to him with a quirked eyebrow. “You think Winchester will help?” 

Aaron gave a slight shrug. “If I play it right.”

Sonny snorted. “Then good luck, my friend.” 

Aaron ruffled Jackson’s hair as he passed him and headed up the stairs towards the room Dean was staying in. The 3 adjoining rooms were inhabited by the other six boys. Everyone in the house (besides the adults) were expected to share their space to encourage inter house unity and discourage isolation. It took most of the boys a while to adjust, but they were always better off for it. If another boy were to come to the home, then Dean would be forced to share as well. 

He allowed Dean the respect of knocking and waiting for a few moments before entering. As expected, the boy was still leaning against the window. He turned to face Aaron with a carefully bored expression, but it instantly twisted into shock when he was asked, “So, how old is your younger brother, Sammy?”

Dean gaped at him for a few moments and then closed his mouth as he seemed to replay the phone conversation in his head. “How the hell did you know about Sammy?” 

“I asked you a question, Dean.” Aaron reminded him seriously. “If there is a young boy out there somewhere without any kind of supervision, I need to know so that I can bring him here and ensure his safety.” 

The boy’s face flushed scarlet and he pushed up to his feet, but kept his arms wrapped around himself defensively. “Sammy’s _fine_. My uncle Bobby came to pick him up.” 

“And he didn’t come for you?” 

“He didn’t know about me!” Dean snapped, looking like he was failing at pushing down the hurt at the reminder. “My dad didn’t tell him. Wants me here as a punishment for getting caught. Now how the hell did you know about Sammy?”

Aaron hummed thoughtfully. He was in trouble for “getting caught,” not committing a crime in the first place. He ultimately decided that now was not the time to push Dean for more answers. “Come help me cook burgers for dinner. Then, you are free to ask me any question you would like and I promise to answer to the best of my ability.”

That surprised Dean enough to blink back in confusion. He shuffled his feet uneasily. “I don’t know how to cook burgers.” 

“I’ll teach you.” He turned on his heel and headed through the open door. At the threshold, Aaron paused and looked at Dean expectantly. “Coming?” 

With nothing else to do, Dean followed. 

XX

Back downstairs, the kitchen was empty, so Aaron took the opportunity to pull the hamburger meat and other ingredients out of the fridge. By the time Dean took up residence on the barstool across the countertop, the condiments, buns, cheese, and fixings were spread out in front of them. 

“Let’s fire up the grill before we start prepping the burgers,” Aaron told him, gesturing for Dean to follow him out to the backyard. Outside there was a grand wooden deck that he and Sonny had built with their bare hands that overlooked the property line. A small pond they used for fishing and cooling off when the temperatures soared was nestled into the north-west corner. Two of the older boys, Elijah and Collin, were splitting the responsibility of mowing the yard while Jackson showed a younger boy, Wyatt, how to tend to the gardens surrounding the house. Past the property line were miles and miles of Eastern Hemlock and White Cedar trees, giving the home a secluded and isolated feeling. 

He led Dean to the large grill out back, one of the only items Aaron gifted Sonny during the entire process, and placed his hands on his hips. “Do you have one of these at home?” 

Dean’s lips twitched into a grimace and smoothed out again faster than a normal boy his age should be able, but Aaron caught it anyway. “No. We’re on the road more often than not.” 

Aaron wondered if that meant that the Winchesters didn’t have an actual _home_ , but he decided to hold off his questions until Dean trusted him. “That’s fine. I’ll teach you. The first thing you want to do is open the lid of the grill. If it’s closed while you try lighting, it can cause gas fumes to build up that could create an exploding hazard. We don’t want that, now do we?” 

Dean snorted and shook his head. Aaron gestured for Dean to do the honors, and the boy hesitated for only a moment before lifting the lid and tracking the interior with an interested gaze. 

He crouched down to slide open the grill’s storage compartment and waited for Dean to do the same. “This is a gas grill that uses propane, so we’ll need to hook it up. Go ahead and attach the gas line, there, to the propane tank and the gas intake, over there. Make sure the connection is firm.” 

This time Dean followed directions immediately, stumbling a little before looking back at Aaron for confirmation. He checked Dean’s work and gave him a pleased smile. “Great work. Now,” he stood back up to his full height as the boy followed his lead. Aaron closed the storage compartment and pointed towards the knobs on the grill. “Go ahead and turn on the gas. This one is the primary valve,” his finger then moved to knob beside it, “and this is the secondary valve that will need to be opened to receive the gas.”

After doing so, Aaron instructed them to wait about a minute for the gas to move through the line to the grill. “For the last step, we want to ignite the grill. Turn the regulator knob right there to its highest setting. This allows gas to flow through the grill up through the grate.” Dean did so and Aaron hummed his approval, which Dean didn’t seem to know what to do with. “Now, press the igniter button, the black one, which will cause a spark inside the grill and light the gas.” 

Once he heard the telltale noise that confirmed they did everything correctly, Aaron nodded. “Great job, now we’re ready to prep the burgers while the grill heats up.” 

As Dean followed him inside, his patience seemed to have run out now that he wasn’t distracted. “Now can you tell me how you knew about Sammy?”

“Sure,” Aaron offered lightly, obviously surprising him. “It’s my job to read people, Dean.” He cleared a workspace for them on the counter, then washed his hands and began piling the necessary spices. “On the phone with your father, your first concern was someone named Sammy. You were relieved that Bobby would take care of him, which indicated he must be young enough to need a caretaker. I also spoke with the owner of the marketplace you attempted to rob and learned that it was a loaf of bread and a can of peanut butter that you took.”

Dean’s ears were tinted pink as Aaron continued while separating out the meat into enough patties for the entire house to have two. “This tells me that you were in charge of caring for someone younger than you, and given the situation and your father’s absence, most likely a sibling. Instead of taking instant food or possibly candy, your choice of bread and peanut butter tells me that you needed to prepare multiple meals rather than just one. The choice to present you with the question of asking after a younger brother rather than a sister was purely guesswork. ‘Sammy’ could have easily been a Samantha.” He paused for a moment and looked up at Dean. “Do you know what the process I just explained to you is called?” 

The boy gave a slight shake of his head, looking a little dazed.

“Deductive reasoning. Also called deductive logic. It is the process of reasoning from one or more statements, or premises, to reach a logical conclusion. Now, what spices do you think we should use for the burgers?”

Dean blinked, as if he wasn’t expecting Aaron to ask for his opinion. “Pepper?” 

Aaron nodded and pulled the peppershaker closer. “What else?

“Uh..” He hesitated. “Salt?”

“There are no wrong answers here, Dean. Go ahead and choose what sounds good to you.” 

His response finally gave Dean the confidence to huff and pick out paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, and cayenne pepper. 

“Excellent choices. Now, we’re going to season each patty with all of the ingredients you’ve chosen. Wash your hands and then you can help me.” 

Once they were on the same side of the counter, Aaron explained how to ensure the mixture of spices was even throughout the patties, and then nudged Dean with his elbow. “I did say that I would answer any questions you might have. I’m a man of my word.” 

Dean tilted his head in thought as he worked. After he finished with the first one, he glanced at Aaron out of the corner of his eye. “So, you’re some kind of lawyer, right?” 

“Correct,” Aaron agreed. “I’m a prosecutor for the District Attorney’s office back home.” 

“What…” Dean paused, and Aaron let him work through his thought process on his own time. “What does that mean?” 

“That’s a good question. It means that I’m an attorney who conducts the case against a defendant in a criminal court. For example, when someone is charged with breaking the law, such as committing murder, it’s my job to review the evidence of the case and convince the jury beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant deserves to be punished for his crimes.”

The kitchen was quiet for a few minutes after that as they worked side by side. Once they were almost finished preparing the patties, Dean turned to him once again. “What if...what if the thing that the guy killed wasn’t human?” 

Aaron’s brow furrowed. “Cruelty to animals can still result in a misdemeanor with a fine, or potentially even imprisonment up to one year. It’s still a crime even if the victim is not human.” 

Dean shook his head, and Aaron could feel the slight frustration coming off of him. “No, I meant what if the thing isn’t human, or an animal. What if it’s a monster?” 

He remembered the werewolf comment from earlier and wondered if these monsters played into the same delusion. Aaron answered slowly as he placed the last stack on the second plate and moved to wash his hands. “Well, in our day and age monsters have not been proven to exist. This means that it would still be considered murder in the court’s eyes unless proven otherwise.” 

The tightening of Dean’s jaw told him that the boy didn’t like his answer, but instead of arguing, he washed his hands and grabbed one of the plates and stomped outside. Aaron sighed, and then made sure to pick up a set of tongs, a grill spatula, and a can of Pam before following him out. 

Dean remained silent while Aaron taught him how to grill the burgers, only responding when asked a direct question. Once they toasted the buns and added cheese to cooked patties, Aaron had discovered that Dean was sixteen years old, from Lawrence, Kansas, living with his dad and eleven year old little brother, and spent most of his life traveling across the country almost constantly. 

He was sure to avoid touchy subjects like monsters and Dean’s way of life for now to avoid any confrontations too early, and by the time they were finished cooking, the boy was grinning with pride at having helped with such a big meal. 

As they sat down to eat at the long dining table with the rest of the house, Sonny asked each boy to share something they were thankful for, a long-standing tradition that bled over from his and Aaron’s childhood. Some were grateful for a friend at school, making it onto a team they tried out for, or even a girl. When it was Dean’s turn, he hesitated before saying, “I’m thankful Sammy is safe.” 

Aaron cleared his throat and followed Sonny’s lead. “I’m thankful that I could be here to spend time with you all.”

“Great, now dig in!” Sonny ordered. Once they took a bite, everyone gave loud agreements that the burgers were delicious. Dean’s cheeks flushed at the praise, but Aaron could see that he was pleased that they were enjoying the food he helped prepare. 

After dinner Jackson convinced him and Sonny to play a few rounds of touch football with them. They divided the teams evenly so that both young and older boys were on each side to keep things fair. Dean decided to sit on the back porch steps and watch instead of joining in. 

Dean was more or less closed off for the next two days while Sonny completed the paperwork for him to attend school. When he followed the other boys off the bus, he completed his chores without complaint and listened to Aaron attentively when he explained how to make spaghetti and grill pork chops. 

When Aaron asked him what he liked to do for fun on the third evening, Dean said he liked hiking and cars. Apparently his father had a ‘67 Chevy Impala that he was in love with. 

“I was practically raised in that thing,” he explained without thinking about it. It was just an off-handed comment to Dean, but Aaron’s brow shot towards his forehead as he thought about the implication such a thing would have on a young boy’s development. 

Carefully, Aaron asked, “What do you like about cars?” 

Dean shrugged as he flipped the chicken on the grill like Aaron showed him how to. “I like figuring out what makes them run. Uncle Bobby has a salvage yard and he’s let me take a few apart and put them back together again.” 

“Sounds like you’d have fun as a mechanic.” 

A shadow crossed over Dean’s face and Aaron silently cursed himself for putting his foot in his mouth. It was difficult attempting to navigate what was safe territory with the boy to establish rapport and trust without taking two steps back. 

“I can’t be a mechanic.” 

Aaron took a tip of his water bottle and watched the chicken cook on the grate. “And why not?”

Dean’s shoulders hunched slightly, but he didn’t close himself off like he had the day before. Progress. “Family business. Can’t really get out of it.” 

“Well,” Aaron sighed and turned towards the back door to flip the veggies inside. “Maybe things can be different.” 

XX

Over the course of the week, Aaron cooked dinner with Dean every night, played sports with the boys, took Jackson and the older boys out on a few hikes, and went through plans and finances for the house with Sonny. By the time Friday evening rolled around, he was feeling lighter than he had in months. Coming out to New York to visit his best friend always seemed to take the weight of the world off his shoulders. 

“I’ll be taking Hotch to the airport tomorrow morning, so everyone make sure to say thank you tonight,” Sonny announced with a grin. “He’s always a huge help when he visits, and we love having him, don’t we?” 

The chorus of small cheers made him grin, and he spent the rest of the evening speaking with everyone in the house and remembering each of their names and stories. When he finally caught sight of Dean sitting in a darkened corner away from the other boys, Aaron sighed and settled on the rug next to him with his back pushed up against the stone fireplace. 

“Why are you over here by yourself?” 

Dean sunk further into the chair and grumbled. “Didn’t feel like talking to anyone.” 

A ghost of a smile flashed over Aaron’s lips before he turned a serious gaze towards Dean. “Didn’t feel like talking to anyone, or didn’t feel like talking to me?” 

His silence was answer enough. 

Aaron let out a huff and rested his head against the stone. “Did you know that it was a coincidence that I arrived the same day you were brought here? My wife was visiting her sick mother, and because I couldn’t celebrate my first big victory with her, I came to see my best friend.” 

“Is she nice?” 

They’d only talked about Haley in passing, and Dean hadn’t inquired about Aaron’s life besides his job, so he viewed the boy’s curiosity as a step forward. “She’s very nice. We were high school sweethearts. A classic tale.” 

He glanced up to see Dean’s grin matching his own. “What is she like?” 

“She’s beautiful,” Aaron told him honestly. “Kind. Understanding about the pressures of my job most of the time. We met because I accidentally walked in on a theatre practice while she was on stage. It was love at first sight.” He shook his head with a smirk playing at his lips. “I even took a small part in the play so I would have an excuse to talk to her.”

Dean snorted, “dude, you were a theatre geek _and_ a jock?” 

“The things we do for love.” 

Dean settled again and glanced at Aaron out of the corner of his eye. “Hotch, what if I don’t fit in here after you leave?” 

Aaron made sure to keep hold of the boy’s gaze. “You’re a good kid, Dean. If I can see that, then Sonny and the others can too. You’ll fit in just fine. You like school, don’t you?” 

“Yeah, I guess,” he muttered with a small frown. “I just…” he sighed and covered his face with both hands. 

Aaron’s heart twisted at the thought of leaving the kid alone. He must be feeling abandoned by his own father for leaving him at the home, and then without his uncle and brother at his side, the loneliness must be really getting to him for his facade to begin crumbling. 

He hoped Haley would forgive him for this promise, and that his work would allow him to follow through on it. “What if I were to visit again? It wouldn’t be for a week like this time. More like a day or two before I have to fly back home, but there are still quite a few things I need to teach you.” 

Dean’s head snapped up and his eyes widened in disbelief. His reaction alone was enough for Aaron to know deep in his bones that he was doing the right thing. “Wait, _really_?” The boy quickly got a hold of himself and tried to play it off. “I mean, what else would I need to know?” 

“How to play guitar for one,” Aaron let out an amused laugh. “You need to impress the girls somehow, right? What else…” 

“Uh,” Dean hesitated before plowing ahead with renewed hope in his expression. “How to throw a spiral? And maybe a few wrestling tips?” 

Aaron’s brow shot towards his forehead. “Wrestling? Are you interested in it?”

Dean nodded, clearly expecting Aaron to disapprove. He wanted to go find the boy’s father and shake him for raising such an insecure boy who always anticipated rejection. 

“I think that’s an excellent idea. Let’s make a deal. You try out for the wrestling team and keep your grades up, and I’ll come back to visit on the weekends. Deal?”

He held out his hand and waited for Dean to play through it in his head. After a few tense moments, the boy’s gaze caught his own. “You promise?” 

“I promise.” 

Dean shook it with a grin tugging at his lips.

XX

Sonny was ecstatic when Aaron told him his plan. “You know we love having you here, Hotch. I think it will be really good for Dean, too. That boy really looks up to you.” 

Aaron decided that he would wait until he was home to tell Haley. The conversation went well enough, though he could tell his wife wasn’t pleased with the idea of him being gone so often. Although it was hell, Aaron put all of his energy into his work during the day and then either took Haley out for dinner or a date every other night so that she didn’t feel neglected while he made time for the sixteen year old kid who needed a male role model to look up to. 

Every Friday evening for the next two months Dean was by Sonny’s side as they picked Aaron up from the airport, and he rode in the back every Sunday morning they had to drop him back off again. They would spend the weekend doing everything Aaron promised, throwing the football, learning new recipes, and playing the beat up guitar Aaron bought for the house on his second trip up to New York. 

They would get lunch at the local diner on Saturday afternoons and discuss their previous weeks. Dean was excelling at school, getting good grades and making the wrestling team. He even talked about a girl he liked. Her name was Robin and Dean was nervous because he wanted to ask her to the upcoming homecoming dance. 

“I know what kids say these days, ‘play hard to get,’ ‘don’t let the girl know that you like her.’” Aaron shook his head. “But that is what _boys_ do, Dean. _Men_ are straightforward. They don’t lie and they don’t steal. If they think a girl is beautiful, they tell her as much. If they want to take a girl on a date, they ask her with a straight face and pick her up with a bouquet of flowers when she says yes.”

Their conversations weren’t always lighthearted, but they were always productive. On his third visit Dean opened up about his family. 

“It’s weird not having Sammy here with me,” he admitted. “I’ve always taken care of him. I carried him out of the fire that killed my mom.” 

“I’m sorry about your mother, Dean. To lose a parent so young must have been very difficult on you. On all of you.”

Dean shrugged and fiddled with the straw sticking out of his Oreo milkshake. “We’re fine. We still have Dad. And we’re busy enough that it doesn't hurt as bad.”

Aaron gave a small nod and carefully asked, “And what are you busy with? I remember you mentioning a hunt?” 

Dean’s guarded eyes flickered up towards Aaron. “Even if I tell you, you aren’t going to believe me. You’ll think I’m crazy.” 

“I can promise you that I won’t think you’re crazy.” Dean’s father, possibly, but whatever religious beliefs he passed down to his sons were on him, not Dean. “I always keep my promises.” 

The boy let out a sigh and chewed on the inside of his cheek before leaning back against the red vinyl. “We hunt monsters. Something killed my mom and started the fire, and Dad’s been hunting it ever since. When the case runs cold, we hunt other things.” 

“Like what?” Aaron’s as careful to keep his voice even. 

“I helped take out a werewolf a few weeks before I came here,” he explained. Dean rolled up his flannel sleeves and showed off the long jagged cut mark on his forearm. “Got me pretty bad, but it healed up alright. There are also ghosts, vampires, and skinwalkers. Dad’s on a rugaru hunt, which is why he hasn’t come to get me.” 

Dean seemed to be of sound body and mind, so it didn’t seem to be a break in reality that caused him to believe in monsters. His belief also hadn’t diminished in his time at Sonny’s. 

On Aaron’s fifth visit, he asked after the occult symbols carved into Dean’s bedposts. 

“They’re supposed to ward off evil.” 

On his sixth visit, Aaron asked if Dean wanted to “hunt” for the rest of his life.

The boy rubbed his face with both hands and looked away. “It’s the family business. I have to.” 

On his seventh visit, Aaron sat Dean down at their favorite diner after speaking with Sonny. He slid his business card with his cell number on the back over to Dean and explained that he could call anytime he needed to. “It’s been almost two months, Dean.” He explained gently. “Sonny and I discussed it, and we’d like to offer you a permanent home here. You’re doing excellent at school and you’ve made friends. You don’t need to always be thinking about an escape route. If you stay here, then you could grow up to do whatever you would like. Go to college, maybe. Become a mechanic.” 

Dean took the card and held it like it was something precious, and decidedly didn’t look Aaron in the eye the rest of the weekend. 

He didn’t take it personally. Aaron understood that Dean needed time to process the offer and what it might mean for his life. But he sincerely hoped Dean accepted. 

As they sat on the porch before Aaron needed to leave for the airport, Dean’s shoulders shook and tears escaped the corners of his eyes down towards his freckled cheeks. Before Aaron could ask what was wrong, the boy launched himself into his arms and clung to Aaron’s neck.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. 

XX

As Aaron drove to the airport on Friday evening, his phone rang. He contemplated letting it go to voicemail, but answered it in case it was work. “Hotchner.” 

“ _Hotch_.” 

The broken, small voice was instantly recognizable. Aaron turned on his indicator and pulled over to the side of the road in a flare of panic. “Dean? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” He was supposed to be going to his homecoming dance tonight.

_“I...I..”_ he sucked in a sharp breath. “ _My dad is here_.” 

Aaron pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is he forcing you? Dean you shouldn’t feel pressured to go with him. Sonny can tell him no.” 

Dean let out a choked sob and Aaron’s heart shattered. “ _I-I know. Sonny offered. But...but Sammy is out there. He needs me, Hotch._ ” 

Aaron knew Dean well enough that there wasn’t a single person on this planet that was above Sammy in Dean’s eyes. There was no talking him out of his decision. 

“It’s okay, Dean. I understand. I’m not angry, or upset with you. I just hope you know that you can call this number anytime you need me. Memorize it, okay?” 

_“I-I have to go_.” 

“I know. You’re a good kid, Dean. A smart one, too. Believe in yourself. Know that I do too.”

“ _Bye, Hotch_.” 

And then the line went dead. 

Xx


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. the timeline doesn’t quite fit the Supernatural universe. This is kind of set halfway through season 10, but I didn’t want the Winchesters older than 30 for my own selfish reasons. Just imagine everything in Supernatural happened quicker than the show. 
> 
> Also, just a warning, there is language in this chapter, because I assume that when someone is confronted with the supernatural, curses will be thrown.

**12 Years Later**

Aaron nodded to JJ as she finished giving an overview of the case a contact of hers in Colorado had sent. “The timeline is escalating, go ahead and tell the team to meet in the conference room for a briefing. 

They both stood and he gathered the files she presented him with to hand them back. He followed her out of his office and looked over the railing to see the exhausted faces of his team members. They’d only returned from North Carolina last night after apprehending a psychopathic woman who was kidnapping children and then killing them three days later once she realized they wouldn’t act like her deceased son. 

Thankfully Jack was at a summer camp with his friends he’d begged to attend, so Aaron didn’t need to worry about leaving him again so soon. Reid, Morgan, Garcia, and Prentiss filed into the conference room one after another, all with a cup of coffee from the shop down the street. Before he could mention it, Rossi came through the threshold with a carrier holding three more cups. He smirked and passed the two extras to Aaron and JJ. 

Aaron held his up in thanks and turned to address the rest of the team. “Thanks for coming in everyone; I know you’re tired from getting in late last night, but we’ve got a new case. JJ?”

“Thanks, Hotch.” She passed out the stack of files to each of her team members. “A friend of mine from Georgetown is the ME in Cheyenne Wells, Colorado. Two bodies have been discovered within a week of each other.” She used her clicker to activate the presentation screen. “Deborah Brenner, thirty-two, was found inside of her locked apartment completely ripped to shreds. I’ve added the photos to your files, but I’ll warn you, they’re not easy to look at.”

Garcia shuddered and shook her head, keeping her eyes firmly on the screen. “No thank you.”

“Do they think it was some kind of animal?” Morgan asked with a grimace. 

“They haven’t been able to match the attack to any of the known animals in the area. The second victim, Zackary Evans, was a thirty-five year old attorney found dead after jumping or falling off the top floor of his office building.” 

Reid narrowed his eyes in confusion. “A potential suicide and animal attack? Why have we been asked to consult on this? There aren’t any obvious similarities besides the successful career positions that would indicate a pattern.” 

“That was my first question as well,” JJ confirmed. “The ME thought it was our kind of case because five years ago four successful business men and women were killed in similar fashions. He thought the two incidents might be related.” 

“Five years is a long time to stay dormant after a series of kills,” Rossi observed after taking a long sip of coffee and tracking his gaze down the file page. “We should look back even further to see if the timeline continues, or even if there are other cases that might also fit.”

“On it,” Garcia grinned, flipping her purple sparkly pen between her fingers.

Aaron closed his file and pushed to his feet, his team following his lead without hesitation. “We can discuss more on the plane. If the pattern continues, then our unsub has at least two more victims in his sights. Wheels up in twenty.” He nodded to Garcia. “Let us know what you find.” 

XX

“Sammy, I swear to God I’m gonna go crazy.” 

Dean dropped his head heavily into his crossed arms over the table while Sam made a pitying sound. Dean _hated_ it. Sure, he understood why his brother and Cas were so hell bent on keeping him in the bunker. He’d died and became a demon after all, but it didn’t mean that he had to _like_ it. 

The angel was off who knows where trying to find a way to get rid of the Mark (Dean wasn’t the least bit optimistic and was slowly coming to terms with his fate) while Sam was tasked with babysitting duty. Not that Dean needed a keeper or anything, but one could only pace the length of the entire bunker so many times without needing to break out and take a joy ride. 

His brother glared at him out of the corner of his eye before returning his attention to his laptop. They’d been through this quite a few times already. 

“Come on, what are you doing over there? Looking at hunts? Watching porn?”

Sam scoffed and finally gestured at Dean to come and join him. Dean didn’t hesitate to scramble over to his side and throw himself into the chair beside his brother in hopes of finally finding something interesting to do. “Looks like there’s a crossroads demon over in a town not too far from here called Cheyenne Wells, Colorado. Pretty intense thunder and electrical storms making a lot of noise in the area, which is weird. Wealthy and successful businessmen and women are dying, and have been every five years or so. I’m trying to figure out who’s closest to take it.”

“We’re closest,” Dean reminded him. 

“We’re _benched_ for the time being,” Sam groused, obviously not happy about the fact either. 

It wasn’t that they didn’t trust other hunters to clean up messes around the country, it was just that there was nobody better in the hunting business than the Winchesters. It was an irrefutable fact. Where there were demons to exorcise or monsters to kill, Dean, his brother, and his angel were the best of the best. 

Unless they were holed up in the Men of Letters bunker due to the fact that the act of killing turned Dean into a rage monster with serious control issues. 

“ _Fine_.” Dean huffed in annoyance. “I think Joe Sanders is in Wyoming. Maybe he could make the drive.” 

Sam grimaced, his dark eyes still glued to the screen. “Yeah, maybe. I’ll have to tell him to be careful, though. The feds have somehow gotten a hold of the case, sent one of their best teams to track down the killer. Sanders won’t be able to pass as an agent to gain information. Plus, I have a bad feeling about this case...” 

A trickle of dread slithered down his spine. “Oh?” Dean asked, trying to sound nonchalant while the roaring in his ears deafened him.

“Yeah, I’ve actually read quite a bit about them. The Behavioral Analysis Unit. They’re profilers. One of their team members, a guy named David Rossi, wrote a few books that were really interesting. We’ve got them in the bunker, actually.” 

Dean’s heart sunk heavily and he moved to wipe a hand across his mouth as bile crawled up his throat. A flurry of memories he hadn’t thought about in _years_ assaulted him relentlessly. 

The surprise and _awe_ he felt at someone’s brain working in such an interesting way, seeing things that most people wouldn’t in such a short span of time. The feeling of _finally_ being _seen_ as an individual rather than a good little soldier or a big brother. The twisted hope in thinking maybe he could do something other than hunting with his life. The realization that someone wanted to take care of _him_ for a change. 

He wasn’t stupid enough to call Hotch when his dad was around. John had always been weird about letting anyone get close to his sons, even calling Bobby out when he took Dean to throw a baseball around rather than having shooting practice. If his dad knew that Dean had even kept a card given to him by some high-powered attorney up in D.C…. he shuddered violently. He didn’t even want to think about what would have happened if his dad found out. His cheek twinged uncomfortably from a phantom memory. 

So instead of calling Hotch like he desperately wanted, Dean kept tabs on him. He remembered reading up on every single one of the cases he was mentioned in online and feeling a strange sense of pride. At first he felt a little ridiculous, because who the hell was Dean to someone like Hotch? And then he remembered that the man had flown to Virginia _every single weekend_ to see him simply because Dean wanted him to. Sure, Dean might have been a sort of pet project to him, but he still took the time out of his busy life and insane schedule to spend a few days with a troubled young boy who seriously needed a male role model in his life. 

After Hotch, Dean’s view of his father changed. He still respected him for the work that he did because John was a damn good hunter. But that was the problem in itself, he put hunting and finding the thing that killed Mary above everyone and everything else - including his own sons. Dean practically raised Sam on his own, which he never once complained about or regretted, but Hotch had helped him see that there was more to life than hunting. He’d even planned on following in Sam’s footsteps and possibly enrolling in a trade school without anyone knowing, but then John had disappeared. After he and Sam reunited, life seemed to travel at the speed of light and his pipe dream was pushed to the backburner. 

He’d figured out how to set an alert on his phone, so Dean remembered getting the notification that Hotch was recruited by the FBI’s big fancy profiling unit. It wasn’t long before he became a supervisory special agent, and after spending years as second in command, Hotch was finally named as the Unit Chief. 

Sure, Dean avoided the feds like the plague because most of them were assholes who only got in the way, and sure, Hotch was probably one of those dicks who helped Agent Henrikson write up the profile on him and Sammy, but Dean would always have a soft spot for the guy. 

Which was why he wasn’t about to let some two-bit wanna-be hunter who was in way over his head go and protect his friend when Dean was more capable and closer by at least one hundred miles. 

“We’re going.” 

Sam’s head snapped towards him, eyes wide in shock. “ _Excuse me_?” 

Dean knew that his voice was low and unyielding, much too like the last few weeks spent as a demon, but there was no arguing with him this time. “Those feds are flying out there like lambs for slaughter. If they get between a hellhound and its prey, they’re gonners. We need to handle this, not Joe-Schmo from bum-fuck Arkansas.” 

“What the hell, Dean? You know you can’t go on hunts until we find a way to get rid of the Mark. If you kill anything right now it makes the draw to the First Blade that much more difficult to ignore!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Dean snapped, pushing up from his chair with gritted teeth. “This isn’t up for debate, Sammy. I’m going to Colorado. You can either come with me or sit your ass here and keep trying to figure out the Mark.”

Sam watched him warily, obviously not understanding why Dean was suddenly so up in arms about this case. However, he must have seen the look on his brother's face because he finally swallowed and nodded slowly. “Okay, Dean.”

He held up a hand before Dean could open his mouth to say anything else. “Just promise me one thing, okay? If we come up against a demon or a hellhound, you let me do the killing.”

Dean paused for only a moment and stuck out his hand to grip Sammy’s. “Deal.”

XX

“What do you have for us, Garcia?” 

The plane had begun its descent and the team was anxious to stretch their legs after the long flight. 

_“Hello my chickadees,”_ She greeted with her usual level of cheer. “ _Rossi was right on the money with his theory. Deaths that were classified as either animal attacks or suicides have been popping up within the same three weeks every five years going back all the way to nineteen-fifty._ ”

Reed whistled loudly, “That’s fifty-seven years of ritualistic killing. Either our unsub started in his early teens and continued as he aged, or we’re looking at multiple unsubs that are engaged in a possible Killing Team. Based on the extended timeline, I posit that we’re looking for a Master/Apprentice type of relationship.”

“If at least two unsubs are at work here then they’re definitely organized,” Derek continued. “They’ve managed to go over fifty years without being caught or leaving evidence that could lead the cops to them. The fact that they make the killings look like suicides and animal attacks is most likely their signature.” 

“You’re right,” Hotch agreed. “Garcia, start looking at connections between each set of victims. It doesn’t matter how small or seemingly unimportant it is, there has to be something that drew the Unsub to them. JJ and I will go to the station and speak with the sheriff and the victim’s families. Morgan and Prentiss, head to the first victim’s apartment. Speak with the neighbors and gather as much information that you can. Reid and Rossi, you go to the second victim’s workplace and do the same. We’ll meet back up at the station.” 

“ _On it._ ”

XX

Sam _tried_ to keep his eyes off his brother, he really did. Unfortunately, watching Dean die and then mysteriously vanish into thin air only to reappear as a fucking _demon_ had screwed with Sam’s head enough that he had become compulsive in his vigil over Dean. 

“Dammit, Sammy, you’ve gotta stop looking at me like that!”  
  


Sam cleared his throat with a cough and sunk further into the leather seats. “I know _, I know_.” 

“I’m not dying and I’m not a demon. We’re just driving to a case, like always.” Dean’s scowl accentuated his point. He flipped on his indicator and pulled into a gas station not too far down the road. One more glare and a harsh, “stay here, I need five minutes to myself,” later, Sam was alone in the car trying not to panic because his brother wasn’t in sight. 

Finally, he broke down and called Cas. 

“ _Sam._ ” 

Eloquent as always. 

“Cas, I thought you should know that we’re headed to Colorado for a hunt and-”

“ _What_?” The angel growled through the phone. The _dangerdangerdanger_ deep within the timbre of his voice had the hairs on the back of Sam’s neck standing to attention. “ _You thought it was a good idea to let Dean, who is cursed with the Mark of Cain, go out on a hunt? Sam, if he dies again he’ll come back as a Knight of Hell! And if he kills a monster then he won’t be able to resist the First Blade!_ ”

“I know!” Sam cut him off with a slight shout. He craned his neck to check that Dean wasn’t around and returned his attention to the call. “I know. But you didn’t see him, Cas. When I mentioned this case, Dean wouldn’t take no for an answer. It’s like he knows all of the risks and just doesn’t care.” 

The other line was silent for a few moments. “ _What drew him to this particular case_?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “It looks like it’s just a crossroads demon. Although things don’t feel quite right to me, It wouldn’t be too difficult for another hunter to clean up the mess, but Dean wouldn’t even hear about it. Even when I mentioned the feds, he still wanted to go.”

“ _That is...strange. Dean is stubborn, but this_?” The angel sighed. “ _He knows what’s at stake here_.”

Before Sam could respond, he saw his brother push through the front doors of the gas station. “I’ve gotta go.” He quickly disconnected the call and stuffed his phone into his jacket pocket so that it was out of sight. 

Of course, Dean being Dean, he picked up that something was off right away. “What did you do?” 

Sam tried to give him his best innocent expression, but Dean must have finally figured out how to look past the puppy-dog eyes because he simply stared at him, waiting. When his brother raised an expectant brow, Sam groaned and gave in. “Fine. I was just on the phone with Cas. He called and just wanted to see how you were doing.” 

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “I hope you told him that. Dude doesn’t need to be worried about me while trying to find something on the Mark.” 

“It’s Cas. He’s always going to worry about you.”

Dean grumbled but didn’t put up much of a fight. That statement was true enough to make both of them a little uncomfortable. Sam didn’t think he was imagining the rising tension between the angel and his brother. Cas and Dean had been dancing around each other for the past couple years and frankly Sam was a little worried he’d be there when everything came to a head. 

He shuddered. No, he didn’t need the image of his brother and his best friend in his head.

To help them move past the sudden awkwardness, Sam reached forward to turn the volume dial up and glanced out of the corner of his eye. 

Dean was bobbing his head to the beat of the music, the soft rock dissipating any lasting tension between them. Sam still had a hard time believing that his brother was alive, well, and _human_ again. The six weeks of believing Dean was dead, and then finding out he was a demon, was hell. And not just because Dean tried to kill him. Seeing him like that, so cold and uncaring, was in such contrast than the brother he grew up with that it made Sam’s head spin. 

Not that Dean was the poster child for familial warmth, but Sam never doubted that his big brother loved him. When their father was absent (which was always), Dean was there for him _every_ _single_ _time_. Hearing him tell Trenton Cole that he couldn’t care less if he killed Sam was tougher than he had imagined. 

And now Dean was hell bent on seeing this case through for some reason. Sam didn’t understand what the big deal was about this crossroads demon. All of them understood the risks of having Dean out in the field, especially with the feds nearby, but his brother was adamant. 

And Sam had gotten his stubbornness from his big brother, so he understood that when Dean set his mind to something, there was no moving him.

He just hoped it didn’t get him killed. _Again_. 

XX

“Agent Jareau?” 

JJ nodded, shaking the sheriff’s hand and gesturing to Aaron. “Yes, it’s nice to meet you Sheriff Watson. This is Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner.”

Aaron took the offered hand and examined the station. It wasn’t large by any means, more cozy than anything, but the space was well organized. Three rows of desks in the bullpen held most of the agents while the conference room Sherriff Watson led them to was set up as per JJ’s instructions. 

“I sent a few deputies to meet your agents,” he explained. “Deborah Brenner’s family will be here in about twenty minutes and Zachary Evans’ brother will be along in an hour or so. They all chose to stay in town for a few days after we interviewed them initially.” 

“Thank you,” Aaron said. “Any leads?”

The Sheriff shook his head with a grimace. “Honestly we didn’t even think to put the cases together until the ME remembered the same type of deaths five years ago. Since then, we’ve been trying to find a connection without much luck.” 

JJ set about putting crime scene photos up onto the cork board for a timeline. “Our technical analyst was able to find a pattern of similar deaths every five years extending all the way back to the nineteen-fifties. We’ll need everything you have on supposed animal deaths and suicides during the same three week period.” 

The Sheriff blanched and the blood drained out of his face. “You’re telling me that we’ve had a serial killer in these parts for that long and no one has caught onto it?” 

“And given the timeline, we believe he might have an apprentice.” Aaron added. “It’s important that we learn why each victim was chosen, so if we can speak with the former victim’s families as well, that would be helpful.”

“I’ll get one of my deputies right on it.” 

XX

When Derek and Prentiss arrived at Deborah Brenner’s apartment, he wasn’t surprised to find that it was nicer than anything he would be able to afford considering the woman’s profession. The security was state of the art from the doorman who ensured everyone who entered the building was either a resident or a guest with a pass all the way to cameras in every hallway. The tapes from the night Brenner was killed didn’t produce anything of use on the night in question, but it did show the victim running to three of her neighbor’s doors in obvious agitation three days before she was killed. 

After they determined the apartment was indeed secure and examined the crime scene, they knocked on each of the same doors the victim did to get their version of the events.

Mrs. Lawrence from 15B swore that Brenner was practically non-coherent when she pounded on her door. “She just looked so scared,” the elderly woman emphasized by pulling her thin cardigan tighter around her skinny shoulders. “Debbie wouldn’t explain what was wrong, just kept ranting about a dog.”

“A dog?” Derek questioned with a tilt of his head. 

“Yes, she yelled and told me to keep my dog away from her! She’s never so much as raised her voice at me, and I don’t even own a dog.” 

Apparently when Deborah Brenner didn’t get the message across to Mrs. Lawrence, she went and told her other two neighbors the same thing. None of them had ever owned dogs in this building. 

On their way back to the station, Derek frowned and shook his head. “Why would the victim be agitated about a dog?”

“Well her death was made to look like an animal attack,” Prentiss reasoned. “The ME would have been able to confirm a dog attack, but maybe the Unsub wanted to psychologically torture the victims first. The witnesses said that the victim was more unhinged than they’d ever seen her.”

“But _dogs_? Was Brenner even afraid of them?” 

Prentiss shrugged and pulled out her phone, “I’ll call Hotch.” 

XX

Aaron hung up the phone and entered the small office once again. “I’m sorry about that. Mr. and Mrs. Brenner, did you know if your daughter was afraid of dogs?”

The older man blinked, looking up at him with a furrowed brow. “No, Debbie loved animals.” 

“She did,” his wife agreed. She patted the wetness underneath her eyes with one of the tissues provided. “She grew up with dogs, even trained our two Labradors.”  
  


“Why?” Mr. Brenner asked, suddenly desperate to latch on to any lead he could. “Did you find out what did this to our daughter?” 

“It’s just a line of questioning we have to pursue. We will reach out if we have any more information for you. Thank you for coming in.” He stood to shake the couple’s hands and escorted them out to the bullpen before waiting for JJ to finish up her interview. 

According to Zachary Evans’ brother, the victim didn’t have much of a life outside of work. No girlfriend, no pets, and not many friends that weren’t coworkers as well. His brother didn’t believe Zach necessarily _liked_ dogs, but he wasn’t inherently afraid of them either. 

When his team returned to the station, Reid and Rossi corroborated the story and mentioned that Evans had apparently grown increasingly hysterical in the days leading up to his death. He kept ranting about a huge, black, monstrous dog that he saw everywhere, though none of his coworkers ever noticed such a thing. He’d been taken off of his most recent case due to his behavior. 

Along with the strange animal connection, both of the victims had gained an unsurprising amount of enemies at their workplaces. Anyone who had been passed up for a well-deserved promotion or case and any of the opposing clients or parties could have wanted the victims dead. Their best lead was the strange dogs they claimed to have seen. 

“Do we think we’re looking at hallucinations?” Morgan asked when the team took their seats around the conference room table to discuss what they’d learned. 

“Shared hallucinations are extremely rare,” Reid argued. “Even if our Unsub somehow dosed each victim with a common drug, each individual’s brain chemistry is different. There’s no way to ensure that both of them would conjure up dogs.”

The Sheriff knocked on the glass door and pushed it open, sticking his face in. “Sorry to interrupt, but I had a few of my deputies speak with the previous victim’s families as well. It’s the same story, all the way down to huge black dogs no one else could see.”

“We know there are two other potential targets out there right now,” Rossi tapped his pen against the table. “What if each victim reported a dog?”

“Good idea,” Aaron praised, then brought out his phone and put it on speakerphone.

_“What can I do for you, Mon Capitan?”_

“Garcia, can you check the call history of each of our victims and determine if any of them called the local animal control?” 

“ _Oh that’s children’s play, Hotc_ h.” Aaron couldn’t contain a twitch of his lips at her teasing. “ _Ding, ding, ding. We’ve got a winner! Turns out both of our victims made multiple calls to the Cheyenne Wells Animal Control Services almost every day leading up to their death_.” 

A thought struck Aaron, and he sucked in a sharp breath at finally finding a lead. “Are you able to check the Animal Control’s call logs? Maybe one of the Unsub’s next targets did the same.” 

They heard the sound of Garcia’s fingers flying across a keyboard before, “ _Here we go! There have been seven separate callers between yesterday and today._ ” 

“Let’s narrow it down by profession,” Prentiss suggested, leaning forward in her seat. “The victimology suggests that the unsub targets powerful and successful individuals.”

“ _We’re down to three now. Sending you the details now_.” 

Aaron nodded and stood up, “Thanks, Garcia.” He turned to face his team and check his phone for the information of the potential victims. “Rossi, you go with a few deputies over to Sarah Marshall’s home, Prentiss, you and JJ head to Joseph Thomas’ apartment, and Morgan and Reid will be with me to check in on Matthew Bromwell. Get their statements and if anyone has claimed to see a huge black dog, then bring them in.” 

XX

Dean paced the length of the shitty motel room while casting expectant glances back over his shoulder. His black Henley stuck uncomfortably to his chest when a trickle of sweat tracked down his skin. “Well?”

Sam huffed in annoyance but pulled up the coding on his computer to thin the list down. “It looks like Deborah Brenner received her first promotion within her company ten years ago at only twenty-two. There are quite a few articles written about the surprise move from upper management, and a few years ago she took over as CEO.” 

“And Evans?”

Sam skimmed the open window on his laptop and frowned. “Zachary Evans was one of the youngest attorneys in his office to make partner at only twenty five. They both must have made the deal right after graduating.”

Dean let out a sigh and sat down heavily on the edge of one of the beds. “If the pattern holds, then the hellhounds will come for someone else tonight. How are we supposed to find them?”

His brother took a swig of his water bottle and pushed up the sleeves of his patched flannel. “The same way we’ve been researching the other two. We need to figure out who’s life suddenly changed ten years ago.” 

It took another three hours, but finally they managed to crack it. 

“Matthew Bromwell,” Dean leaped to his feet and pointed at his computer screen. “Down the rabbit hole I found his facebook page. Says here that he took over for one of the city’s major construction companies when he was only twenty-seven.” 

Sam pushed up out of his chair and walked over to Dean’s side of the table, looking over his shoulder. “You’re right, it sounds like our guy.” When Dean scrolled through the page, they found telltale signs of Bromwell growing more agitated over the past few days. 

“Dude is definitely off his rocker.” 

“Dean,” Sam chastised lightly before finding his most recent post. “Okay, it looks like Bromwell is working late tonight. He’ll be at the construction sight. Let’s go.”

X

When there wasn’t an answer at Bromwell’s door, Reid suggested that he might still be at his construction site working late. The sun had dipped below the horizon line about thirty minutes ago, leaving the world around them shadowed in a sea of dark grey and blues. Garcia was able to send them the location and they arrived within another twenty minutes. 

Powerful overhead lights illuminated the large mounds of dirt in the lot surrounded by heavy construction vehicles. Aaron led the way through the opening in the chain link fence with Reid and Morgan on his flank, their weapons unholstered and out at the ready. 

“Mr. Bromwell?” He called out, noting the eerie echoing effect that sent a chill straight down his spine. “My name is SSA Hotchner and I’m with SSA’s Morgan and Dr. Reid. We’re here to speak with you about the phone calls you made to the local animal control.” 

They continued forward when a short whimper broke out of the shadows. 

“Mr. Bromwell?” 

The dirt kicked up around them in a flurry as their boots moved across the hard ground. Reid’s flashlight traveled over the site until it caught onto a shaking figure hunched over against a bare tree. 

“Mr. Bromwell, are you hurt? Do we need to call an ambulance?” Aaron crouched down, still on guard but eyes tracking over the man to see if he could find any injuries. 

The man raised his head and Aaron wasn’t surprised to see the thinly veiled expression of horror on his sunken face. His black hair was unruly and sticking to his cheeks as sweat coated his skin, causing his reflecting construction gear to be plastered against his too-thin frame. He must have been too frightened and agitated to eat over the past few days. 

“I didn’t mean to,” he rasped with a frantic shake of his head. “I didn’t know what I was giving up!” 

“What do you mean?” Morgan asked with an air of calming patience. “What did you give up?” 

A sob tore through Matthew Bromwell’s throat as he curled even tighter into himself. “She made the deal seem so easy! I-I...I didn’t believe anything would actually happen!”

“Can you please explain what’s going on?” Reid pushed gently. 

“But now it’s here! It’s here to kill me!” A sound echoed behind them and Mr. Bromwell shrieked, throwing himself back against the bark. “Save me! Please! You can’t let it get me! _I didn’t know_!” 

Aaron spun on his heels, ensuring the man was directly behind him while his team moved outwards with their guns raised. The overhead lights flickered uncertainly over the lot, but it was enough for them to see one of the construction vehicles flying across the lot.

Aaron’s brain stuttered over the image of the heavy machinery that was parked lifelessly one moment and the next flying out of the way as if _something_ picked it up without any trouble and threw it across the dirt, landing with a roar when the metal crashed into itself. 

“What the fuck was that?” Morgan shrieked. 

The beam from Reid’s flashlight quivered dangerously as he trained it on the now-destroyed vehicle. Before they could parse together an explanation of what could have possibly done something like that, a fierce, bone-chilling growl sounded from just ahead of them. Bromwell’s sobs ripped from his throat in terror and Aaron, Reid, and Morgan sucked in a sharp breath of air as they felt damp, humid breath touch their faces. 

Aaron emptied his clip in a split second of desperation, followed closely by his team members. 

He didn’t know what the _fuck_ was happening, but there was no question in his mind that whatever was in front of them was pain-stakingly _dangerous_ and would kill them without hesitation if given the chance. 

By the sound of the whines and grunts, they did in fact hit _something_ , but whatever it was must have been large or strong enough to shake their rounds off with terrifying ease. The resounding roar threw all three of them to the ground from the force of it, and Aaron had half of a second to think about Jack before he made out the sounds of the invisible beast crouching down for an attack. 

“NO!” 

At the strange new voice, Aaron lowered his outstretched arm an inch to see a darkened figure throw themselves on top of the creature with a sharp cry. In a different situation, it would have looked strange to see a man hanging in mid-air, but there was too much adrenaline coursing through his veins to feel anything but unadulterated fear. By the outline, he could make out a man wielding a thin silver blade, which he sliced across what Aaron assumed was the invisible beast’s neck judging by the man’s position. The man was thrown to the ground with another roar, but he reared up to attack again quicker than Aaron would have expected. With one last slash, the man, and by default due to their nearness, Aaron, Reid, and Morgan, were all sprayed with a murky red liquid that must have been blood. 

An echoing crash reverberated around them as the invisible beast fell to the ground with an _oomph_ , kicking up enough dirt to stick to their damp clothes, and then everything was silent with a paralyzing tension hanging in the air. 

The man groaned, disgusted as he looked down at his ruined clothes - a black henley with patched jeans. And then he raised his head and Aaron latched onto a pair of bright green eyes that he never thought he’d see again. 

Namely, because the owner of said eyes was supposed to be _dead_. 

Three times over again. 

But no, there, standing in front of Aaron like a blood-soaked avenging angel with a silver sword and a familiar cocky grin was _Dean fucking Winchester_. 

“Hiya, Hotch.”

XX


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone! Here's to hoping that 2021 is about a million times better than 2020!
> 
> P.S. Warning for language

The moment the adrenaline from his fight with the hellhound drained from his veins, the call of the First Blade hit him harder than it had since Sam and Cas turned him back into a human. 

He let out a sharp cry and grit his teeth against the pain, the _bloodlust_ , fighting every instinct in his body to crash down onto his knees. 

“ _Dean_!” 

The sound of his brother’s voice tore Dean from his downward spiral, and he let Sam pull him along by the elbow, his grip tighter than probably necessary. “We’re going to get the hell out of here, and then you’re going to explain what the fuck just happened!” 

Dean barely managed to roll his eyes before he was being shoved into the front seat of the Impala, wondering how they got there so fast. He blurred in and out of consciousness in an attempt to fight off the trembling in his arm. _Fuck_. His body was calling, begging really, for the blade without his permission, so Dean sucked in long, deep breaths to force himself back under control. 

Before he knew it, Sam was throwing him onto his creaky bed back at the motel. 

“Dean? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” 

He opened his eyes again to find that his vision had cleared. Thank God. “I’m good, Sammy. You know the Mark protects me,” Dean managed to choke out, his voice rough. 

His brother let out a relieved breath before turning a frantic glare on him. “Good. Now explain what just happened!”

“And why you did not let Sam dispose of the hellhound in your place.” 

Dean jumped in surprise and spun around to find Cas sitting on the edge of Sam’s bed. “Shit, man. Bells, I’m telling you. It’s time to invest.”

“Dean!” 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Dean insisted, frustrated now. His body was calmer and sure, there was an underlying shooting pain that had his hand flexing, but he could handle it. “Sam was too far away.” He turned to match his brother’s glare. “You wouldn’t have gotten there in time to stop the hellhound from killing those agents.” 

“I was right behind you! I could have handled it!” Sam argued hotly. 

Dean rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t about to take that chance. I was there and I saved him. _Them_.” He corrected quickly. “What did you want me to do?” 

“How about not do something that could potentially get you _killed_? Or have you fall under the effects of the First Blade? Again!”

A wave of shame rolled over him as he shrank back against Cas’ words. He hated making the two of them worry about him. It wasn’t like Dean didn’t know that he put everything at risk when he killed the hellhound. He didn’t want to feel the Mark again, and he sure as fuck didn’t want to be a demon again, but…

“I had to protect them,” he insisted, knowing he did the right thing. 

Cas and Sam exchanged a glance. His brother raised an aggressive eyebrow at Dean. “That’s another thing. Did you know one of the feds? It sounded like you said, “Hotch.”” 

And that was the end of Dean’s willingness to share. He’d never told _anyone_ about Hotch, and he sure as fuck wasn’t about to start now. He stubbornly kept his mouth shut as Sam pressed, looking at a point over his brother’s shoulder. 

Both he and Sam looked up when Cas pushed to his feet, staring at Dean with a crease between his brows. “Fine. If you will not explain, I shall seek out my own answers.” 

Alarm bells started ringing in Dean’s head, but before he could call out to Cas, the angel disappeared in a flurry, whipping a slight breeze through the motel room. 

“Shit!” Dean cursed and fumbled for his phone, ignoring Sam’s questions and protests. 

He had to warn Hotch. 

XX

The tense silence stretched across the room as a newly showered Hotch, Reid, and Derek stood on opposite sides of the round table in Hotch’s hotel room that held their ruined, blood soaked clothes. 

Derek swallowed past the lump of unease- in his throat and turned to Reid with his last ounce of hope. “Let’s take this one step at a time.” He suggested warily. “Any ideas, Pretty Boy?” 

To Derek’s horror, Reid shook his head, the blood draining out of his thin face. “I considered our first hypothesis surrounding the victims, mass hallucinations. But I’ve replayed our day over and over again in my head, and the only shared beverage or meal we all ingested was the coffee at the station. As none of the other team members reported hearing or seeing the same things we did, that hypothesis is proved incorrect. Putting that aside, I believe the blood is evidence enough that we were in fact _not_ hallucinating.” He gestured towards the pile of clothes with a shaky hand.

“So _what_?” Derek rasped. “You think that we were actually attacked by some invisible monster? That’s _insane_!” 

Reid rubbed both hands over his pale face. “I don’t know! I don’t know what to think. I can always trust my memory, Morgan, _always_.” He grimaced. “But now…”

The silence settled over them once again until Derek’s gaze flickered to his boss. He wasn’t sure how to address the serial-killer sized elephant in the room. “Hotch?”

The older man’s eyes hadn’t moved from the table. He took in a deep breath and started to open his mouth to respond. 

Before he could speak, the hotel room door flew open, hitting the wall behind it with an echoing _crack_. A vaguely familiar man with tousled black hair and piercing blue eyes stormed into the room, his light tan trench coat billowing behind him like a cape despite the lack of wind flow. 

The man didn’t even spare a glance at Reid or Derek, his sharp gaze fixated on Hotch with a crease between his brow and a frown tugging at his chapped lips. He ignored the shouts and demands of “Who the hell are you?” And “Put your hands in the air!” In lieu of striding straight up to Hotch, grabbing him by the throat and thrusting him up against the dimly painted wall.

Reid and Derek had their weapons out and trained on the man in the blink of an eye, but the stranger was completely unbothered by the display, causing the hairs on the back of Derek’s neck to stand to attention. A man unafraid of death was a dangerous one. The threat to his Unit Chief notwithstanding.

“Let him go!” 

“Step back or I swear to God I’ll shoot!” Derek warned, his patience stretched thin enough to snap. 

Beside him, Reid sucked in a sharp breath, loud enough to catch Derek’s attention and cause him to hesitate. 

“What? What is it?”

Reid’s eyes narrowed in concentration as he examined the man’s face. “That’s...that’s James Novak. A known associate and accomplice of Sam and Dean Winchester.” 

The man didn’t flinch, but Hotch did beneath his tight grip.

“Mr. Novak,” Reid attempted to placate the man holding their Unit Chief against the wall. “Please set him down. You’re attacking a federal agent. If you let go now, we can work something out.” 

The deep, gravel voice that came from Novak surprised Derek more than it should have. “I am not Jimmy, and I do not answer to your petty human laws.” He turned his piercing blue eyes back to Hotch. “Now, who are you to Dean Winchester? Why would he risk his life to save yours?” 

Derek blinked in an attempt to parse through everything the man said. Did this mean he was experiencing multiple personalities? There wasn’t any previous evidence to suggest so. But with an association to the Winchesters, it was entirely possible.

And despite the situation, Derek wanted to know the answer to Novak’s question too. 

Reid recovered faster than he did. 

“Okay, okay.” His friend took a deep breath and glanced at Derek out of the corner of his eye. “If you’re not James. Novak, then who are you?” 

Unfortunately, Novak ignored Reid in favor of pushing Hotch further against the wall and repeated his questions. Derek would be seriously impressed by the man’s upper body strength if he weren’t freaking the fuck out. 

Finally, Hotch managed to rasp out a suitable response. “I’ll answer, just let me down.” 

Novak cocked his head, obviously considering his options. Finally, he slowly pulled his hand away, dropping Hotch to the floor with a heavy _thud_ and leaving their Unit Chief sucking in deep breaths and holding his throat. Reid was by his side in an instant, helping him to his feet, while Derek kept his gun trained on Novak. 

Although, he wasn’t sure if it was even necessary considering the man didn’t seem bothered by it at all. 

“I am asking out of a courtesy,” Novak growled, his hands clenched into fists by his side. “Dean has repeatedly reminded me that reading others’ minds without their permission is an invasion of privacy.”

The three agents watched him warily. The man was clearly under some kind of delusion. They just needed to find out which one. The most obvious one would be the occult delusion shared by the Winchesters.

Hotch must have been thinking along the same lines, because he asked, “I will tell you how I know Dean, but may I ask who I’m speaking with if you’re not James Novak?”

 _Fuck_. Hotch just admitted to somehow knowing one of the most notorious serial killers of their time _and_ to keeping it to himself for how long? At the very least during his tenure at the BAU, because Derek would have heard about it if their relationship has been disclosed. 

“I am Castiel,” the man said, rather dryly in Derek’s opinion. Before he could elaborate, a harsh ringtone cut him off, and all eyes turned to Hotch. As his boss’ eyes flicked towards the screen, the rest of the BAU team decided that was an excellent moment to barge into the room.

They must have noticed the already strained tension, because his friends stiffened as they looked between Derek and Reid, who still had their weapons drawn, Hotch, and Not-James. Prentiss took out her gun as well while JJ and Rossi moved to stand beside Derek. “What’s going on here?” Rossi asked calmly, his eyebrows raised at the man in the trench coat. 

“Answer it,” Castiel told Hotch, his attention never swaying from the phone. “Put it on speaker, I would like to speak with Dean.” 

Derek’s eyes widened in alarm, wondering 1) how the hell this guy knew who was calling Hotch, and 2) how Dean fucking Winchester got ahold of Hotch’s cell phone. 

“Guys?” JJ hedged closer as Hotch’s gaze flicked across the room before landing on the phone once again. 

“Answer it,” Castiel repeated, which spurred the Unit Chief into action. With a quick intake of breath, Hotch answered the call and put it on speakerphone.   
  
“Hotchner.” 

A thin reed of static before - “ _Hotch_?” The man’s voice, presumably Dean’s, was deeper than the one time Derek had heard it on a video recording from Agent Henriksen’s files. “ _Shit, man, are you guys alright? I…listen, you probably don’t remember me, but this is Dean. I - there’s a guy. Cas. He’s -_ ”

“Dean?” The man who claims he’s not James Novak, who is apparently Castiel, cut him off. 

“ _Fuck, Cas!_ ” Dean growled over the phone. “ _Get your feathery ass back here!_ ” 

Rossi cleared his throat and rose both palms up as if to ask _‘what the hell is going on here?_ ’ All Derek could do was shrug helplessly. He had no idea where to even begin.

Castiel shook his head, a pinched expression clouding his sharp features. “I have not received the answers I’m looking for, Dean. If you would like, I can simply read his mind -”

“ _No_!” Dean argued hotly. “ _We talked about that, man. What’s inside someone’s head is private!_ ” He took a deep breath, presumably to calm himself, and muttered to someone else in the room with him. “ _Look, come back and leave Hotch alone. He’s not a part of any of this. I’ll explain, I swear. Just...come back._ ” 

Castiel contemplated Dean’s request with a tilt of a head, then examined the room’s occupants before giving a small nod. “As you wish.” 

In the blink of an eye, the man was gone, leaving only a short rustle of paper fluttering around where he had been standing. Derek’s breath caught, while Reid and Hotch jerked back in surprise and JJ and Prentiss let out surprised yelps. Rossi simply stood there, uncomprehending. 

“ _Dean._ ” 

Every head in the room snapped towards the phone in Hotch’s hand, from where the man, Castiel, had just sounded from the other line. 

_“Fuck, how many people were there when you did your little disappearing act?”_

_“Six.”_

Dean let out a heavy sigh, as if the idea of witnesses was more taxing than a room full of FBI agents. _“Shit. Okay, Hotch, are you still there?”_

The room quieted down from the incessant muttering and questions, leaving Hotch to answer. “I am. I would very much like to know what the hell is going on here.” 

Dean seemed to hesitate on the other line. “ _Listen, you and your team should head back home. This isn’t your usual type of case, you must have realized that back at the construction site. Sammy and I will take care of it, but you’ll be in danger if you keep investigating. I just-you need to stay safe, alright? Go home.”_

Before Hotch could say anything, the line went dead. Their Unit Chief stared blankly at the phone, his usual stoic expression a mess of emotions, and dropped onto the bed heavily. 

The team was quiet for all of ten seconds before erupting into chaos. 

“Where did he go?”

“Who was that on the phone?” 

“Was that really James Novak?” 

“How did he do that?”

Finally, Hotch gritted his teeth, pushing to his feet and pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s enough!” Instantly, there was silence once again. Hotch rubbed his face with the palm of his hand before facing his team. “Sit down. There’s a lot to explain.”

The team looked at one another warily, then slowly took up seats around the room. The girls sat together on the couch, Rossi took a seat at the table that still held their bloody clothes, and Reid and Derek pushed their shoulders together on the edge of Hotch’s bed. 

“There’s no real way to begin, so I’ll just start from the beginning, shall I?” He asked quietly, voice full of resignation. Derek nodded for him to continue. 

“Twelve years ago I went to visit my best friend, Sonny, at the Boys Home he runs in Upstate New York. The day I arrived, a sixteen-year kid was brought in for stealing a jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread. That boy was Dean Winchester.” He paused, taking in the sharp intakes of air around him. “His father was gone somewhere and Dean was left to take care of his brother, but he was caught by the police and Sonny took him in. We…” Hotch hesitated, his dark eyes glazed slightly at the memory. “We connected. Dean was a good kid, but in desperate need of someone to look up to. I was a prosecutor in D.C., so he was duly impressed.”

Hotch began pacing, apparently needing to work off the excess energy that had begun to build up. “Dean believed in monsters. He thought he and his family were hunting them while they traveled. That’s where he claimed his father was instead of coming to get him. He believed in ghosts, demons, werewolves, rugarus, wendigos, and the like. Dean also drew occult symbols on his bed posts to protect him from evil spirits while he slept.” The Unit Chief ran his fingers through his unruly hair. “I came back to visit him every weekend, because it encouraged him to do well in school and begin living his life as a normal kid rather than as a hunter. And then, after two months, his father came for him. I gave him my card so that he could ever contact me if he was in trouble, or just needed someone to speak with. Dean would never admit it, but he was _terrified_ of John Winchester.” 

He swallowed thickly and came to a stop next to Rossi. “He never called. The next time I heard about Dean was when he’s arrested for murder. Agent Henriksen asked for the BAU to consult on a profile for the serial killer duo, Sam and Dean Winchester. With our history, I agreed. After that, there are multiple reports of one or both of the brothers being found dead, only later to reappear after another string of crimes or homicides.”

It was quiet for a few, long moments. It was Prentiss who broke the silence. “So...how did you come to speak with him on the phone? And who was that man?” 

Hotch caught both Derek and Reid’s eyes, the question of the truth hovering between them. Derek nodded, letting the two of them know that he trusts their team. He believed they deserved to know what happened to them tonight. 

“This evening, Morgan, Reid, and I went to Mr. Bromwell’s construction site hoping to speak with him about the calls he made to the local animal control. When we arrived, Mr. Bromwell was curled up in front of a tree, showing severe signs of distress and fear.” Hotch dipped his head with a grimace. “There was... _something_ , out there. Something we couldn’t see. A beast. It tossed the construction vehicles around as if they were scrap paper. As we were standing guard over Mr. Bromwell, it set forward to attack us.”

His jaw tightened and the hands at his side curled into fists. “It would have torn us to shreds, there is no doubt in my mind. Before it could though, Dean came out of nowhere and killed the beast, covering us in blood, which is evidence that the three of us aren’t actually losing our minds.” 

Derek shared a ghost of a smile with Reid. 

“Sam Winchester took Dean away while the rest of us were still recovering from shock. When we arrived here at the hotel, we got cleaned up, placed our ruined clothes here for future processing, and tried to come to terms with what happened tonight. That man was James Novak, a known accomplice of the Winchesters. However, he introduced himself as Castiel, and claimed that he was not in fact Jimmy.” 

“And how did he-” JJ asked with a furrowed brow, gesturing with her hands to demonstrate the disappearance. 

Hotch shrugged with a deep-set frown. “I have absolutely no idea.”

It’s quiet again, the team contemplating the new information and working it out separately. Reid was the first to speak, still pale and exhausted from having his world twisted on its head. “Are the Winchesters right? Are there really monsters in this world? And not just the ones we hunt. What we saw tonight should have been impossible, but I’ve never had to question my memory before.” 

Derek leaned into him just a bit for comfort, swallowing thickly around a lump in his throat before nodding. “I really, really don’t want to admit it, but I’ve never been more terrified in my life. I couldn’t even see that thing, but I knew it was there. I could feel it’s breath on my face and it smelled like a corpse.”

Rossi hummed lightly, holding a fist under his chin and staring at a spot on the carpeted floor. “What do we do now? Do we follow Winchester’s advice and leave? Or do we see this case through?” 

“How can we see it through?” Prentiss asked with a frown tugging at her lips. “We have no idea what we’re dealing with. It isn’t as if we were getting anywhere with this case.” 

“What if…” Reid hesitated, glancing back up at Hotch warily. “What if we worked with the Winchesters on this? Maybe they could explain a few things for us.”

Derek tensed, along with JJ. “They’re _serial killers,_ ” he reminded the team with a note of alarm. 

Hotch moved to look out the nearby window, eyes straining to see something in the darkened parking lot. “Are they?” 

“What?” Rossi asked, standing to his feet. “You think they might be innocent?”

“Not innocent, no,” Hotch amended. “But I think tonight proved that we’re missing pieces of the puzzle. If the Winchesters really are who they say they are, then we’ve been working with only half of the information. Maybe even less than that.” He shook his head and turned to face the team.

“We need to rest tonight. First thing in the morning, I want a compilation of every case involving the Winchesters. I will call Garcia and tell her to work with Reid to gather the information the agents working those cases might have missed. What was happening before and after the brothers arrived into town, what might have brought them there. If we’re working from the assumption that the Winchesters believe in the occult and supernatural beings, there must have been signs that led them to each case.”

He blinked against his obvious exhaustion before continuing. “Rossi, you, Prentiss, and JJ will continue working the case.” As Prentiss opened her mouth to argue, Hotch shot her a look that told her that his orders were final on the matter. “We have to find a connection between each set of victims. Monster or not, there has to be a way that the killer is choosing them. While you all are busy, Morgan and I will be searching for the Winchesters.” 

At the team’s wary stares, Hotch held his hands out to the side. “I don’t know about any of you, but I can’t simply move on without answers. I need to know what we saw tonight, how Novak, or Castiel, disappeared, and I need to know if the sixteen year-old boy that I once knew is still in there.” 

Nobody talked back or asked for clarification, everybody seemingly on the same page as they tried to make sense of the night's events. They were quiet and contemplative, the weariness showing on their drawn faces and sluggish movements. 

“Everyone get some sleep,” Hotch finally ordered, soft, yet demanding. “We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us tomorrow.” 

XX

As soon as Dean hung up the phone, he turned on Cas with a fierce scowl. “ _What the fuck_? What were you thinking? You can’t just bust in on the FBI! And you definitely can’t up and teleport right in front of them!” 

The angel didn’t look chastised, the son of a bitch, rather confused and - though Dean would never admit it - _adorable_. “I do not understand. I went to Aaron Hotchner for answers you would not give me, and then returned when you requested.” 

“I-“ Dean started, frustrated and angry but unable to find a foothold. “Whatever. It’s done now.”

“Are you going to tell us about the FBI agent?” Sam asked as he leaned against the wall, not bothering to mind the chipped wallpaper. “You did promise Cas.” 

Dean rolled his eyes but nodded, standing to get a beer from the fridge. “I need a drink.” When he finally sat back down against the headrest and made himself comfortable, Dean sighed heavily. “Do you remember when we were in New York for a few weeks, and then you went to stay with Bobby for another few months without me?” 

Sam’s brow furrowed as he thought back to find the memory. His eyes lit up when he landed in it. “Yeah, I was maybe eleven or twelve? Dad said you were lost on a hunt.” 

“Not exactly,” he explained with a grimace. “I’d been nabbed by the local Sheriff. He took me to this Boy’s Home run by a man named Sonny.” 

“What?” Sam asked, straightening with an air of indignant rage. “Why the hell did Dad lie to Bobby and I then? You know Bobby wouldn’t have left you there if he’d known.”

Dean shrugged, risking a glance at Cas, who seemed just as irritated on his behalf. “Guess Dad thought it was a just punishment for getting caught.” Before Sam could open his mouth to say something else, Dean barreled on. “Anyway, Sonny’s best friend was there when I showed up. Aaron Hotchner, a big, bad prosecutor for the District Attorney’s office.” 

He felt his voice turn rougher as he thought about his time at Sonny’s, but couldn’t find the strength to cover it up for Sammy. “He was a good guy, you know? Someone I looked up to. Showed me that there was more to life than hunting.” 

“You told him about hunting?” Sam asked incredulously. Dean didn’t blame him; it wasn’t as if he was the kind of guy to talk about his feelings, much less his feelings on their lifestyle. 

“I told him about everything,” Dean admitted. “Hotch didn’t believe a word that came out of my mouth, I’m sure, but that never stopped him from listening. He gave me his card before Dad came back for me. Told me to call if I ever needed him.” 

He heard Castiel sigh beside him. “I’m assuming that tonight was the first time you took him up on that offer.” 

Dean tipped the neck of his half-empty beer bottle towards the angel. “Ding, ding, ding.” 

“That’s why you ignored us about the Mark,” Sam stated with a dip of his head. “You actually care about him.”

“Don’t make it out to be more than it is,” Dean warned. “Hotch is a good man. I respect him a hell of a lot more than I do ninety-eight percent of the other people we meet on the job.” 

Sam held his palms up in defense. “I’m not trying to insinuate anything, Dean. I’m just trying to understand. What do we do now?” 

“Now?” He asked, suddenly lost. 

Cas elaborated for him. “Now that they have been in proximity to the hellhound. How do we proceed with the case? You must not be involved in the physical assault when we track down the crossroads demon.” 

Dean scowled and turned to stare a burning hole through his drink. “Now we keep working the case. We’ve gotta find the son of a bitch and gank him before he can make anymore deals. And yeah,” he admitted, though not without difficulty. “You two can do the heavy lifting.” 

He rubbed at the Mark on his arm, still fighting the underlying pull that promised relief and blood. Dean ignored his family’s concerned looks. “Plus, I told Hotch and his buddies to book it. Hopefully they listen.”

“Doubtful,” Sam told him with a roll of his eyes. “But fine. We’ll rest tonight and start up again in the morning. Cas can stay here with you while I do some more research.” 

“I don’t need a babysitter!” Dean snapped. 

“Indeed,” Cas agreed gravely. “You are no longer a child and I see no reason to sit on you.”

Dean and Sam exchanged exasperated looks. “Plus, someone needs to look out for Bromwell. We might have killed the hellhound tonight, but we don’t know when they’ll be sending another one.” 

“I agree that would be a better use of my time.” Cas nodded seriously. “I believe it would be uncomfortable to sit on anyone.”

Angels, man.

XX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I'd love to hear your thoughts on this story so far! Thank you to everyone who has left kudos/commented <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who is following this story!

A sliver of dulled sunlight stretched over Dean’s face, causing him to scrunch up his nose and burrow further into his pillow. Five, ten, or fifteen minutes later, he finally managed to push himself up onto his elbows and look around the room. Sam and Cas must have already headed out, because he was alone.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face, peeking up when he noticed a box labeled with the logo from the donut shop down the street. He grinned widely, only wobbling slightly from the pull from the Mark that made his knees weak, and stuffed a few jelly filled donuts down this throat. 

Once he finished breakfast, Dean stumbled into the bathroom for a shower. The steam rose throughout the small room as he let the water heat, causing the mirror to fog as he brushed his teeth. If he was honest with himself, Dean knew he looked like shit. His face was drawn with dark bags under his eyes despite sleeping until almost noon. The thrumming need for bloodlust from the First Blade made his body weaker, chipping away at him until he finally gave in to the pull. 

Dean tried to think about the case instead as he washed. They just needed to figure out how to find the crossroads demon. Under Crowley’s rule, demons had gotten a lot smarter in their desire for souls, no longer waiting for someone to stumble across a spell to summon them and instead preying on those that don’t actually know any better. He hoped that Hotch and his team had skipped town like he told them to, or the case could get messy trying to keep more people out of the shitstorm the demon had created. 

After he shut off the water, Dean dried himself off, stepping out and wiping a hand across the mirror. At least he looked better than he did. His muscles still trembled slightly, but his color was starting to return. There was a slight tremor shooting its way up his arm as he dressed, but Dean did his best to ignore it. Before he could get comfortable on the bed once again, with his laptop by his side to see about doing some research, there was a knock on the door. 

Dean stiffened, knowing that Sam would have just used his key to come in and Cas would rather teleport than walk like a normal freakin’ person. He paused long enough for the banging to continue, harder this time. Dean quietly rolled onto his feet and grabbed the gun on his bedside table before making his way towards the door, careful not to make any noise. He didn’t want to look through the peephole and risk his shadow announcing his presence, so Dean opted for a tactical approach, twisting the knob and holding his gun out in front of him, yet still out of sight. 

He wasn’t sure who he was expecting, but it sure as hell wasn’t Hotch and one of the agents from last night.  _ Damnit _ , why does nobody listen to him when he’s just trying to keep them safe?

His chest tightened in surprise, but he didn’t dare lower his weapon. Dean wasn’t naive enough to believe the two men in front of him weren’t armed to the teeth, and it wasn’t as if Dean was unaware of the many warrants out for his arrest. Their dark eyes watched him warily, like some kind of animal they had cornered after a long and tedious hunt.

Not exactly reassuring. 

“Here to arrest me, then?” Dean asked with feigned nonchalance. “Because I’ll tell ya, you won’t be able to hold me for long. Cas isn’t too fond of me being locked up.” 

Hotch blinked, then grimaced. “We aren’t here to arrest you, Dean.”

“At least not yet,” the agent with the darker skin and tight henley threw in. “So you can put away your firearm.”

“Well that sure gives a guy some peace of mind,” Dean sniped, but clicked the safety on and tucked his gun into the back of his waistband anyway. “What brings you ‘round this part of town, agents?”

“Dean,” Hotch breathed out with an air of someone who jumps straight to the point. “May we come inside? We just want to talk.” 

He watched the two men for a few long moments, cataloguing their stance, the tension in their shoulders, the set of their jaws. “You're scared,” Dean observed lightly, unsurprised when the agents looked taken aback. Not everyday that a wanted serial killer profiles the profilers. “And I’m guessin’ you want answers.” 

Before he could think too hard on it, Dean opened the door a few more inches and stepped back in invitation. 

Hotch was the first through the threshold, though he kept his eyes on Dean while the other agent’s gaze swept over the room before closing the door behind him. 

Dean wasn’t sure where to go from here. Chances were that Hotch didn’t even remember him. He was just a punk kid he knew back in the day for a few months. Dude was busy. Probably forgot him the moment Dean hung up the phone twelve years ago. 

“You grew up,” Hotch observed, interrupting Dean’s internal monologue and proving him wrong immediately. 

He didn’t mean to, but Dean found himself stepping back in surprise with wide eyes. “You - you remember me?”

“Do I remember the sixteen year-old kid who stole food at the grocery store so his little brother would have something to eat? Do I remember the boy who I spent two months flying to see every weekend to ensure that he was actually doing well in school and making friends? Yes, Dean. I remember.”

Dean’s jaw had dropped, leaving his mouth agape as he tried to piece through Hotch’s words. When he finally did, a tense silence had settled over the room and the onslaught of memories and emotions that he’d bottled up for twelve years suddenly hit him like a physical blow.  _ Hard _ . Without conscious thought, he was moving towards Hotch and throwing his arms around him. 

Before the embarrassment and disbelief of his actions could settle in, Hotch followed suit and hugged him back, tightening his hold when he felt Dean stiffen. He remembered how his friend used to listen to him without judgement, encourage him to do things because  _ Dean _ wanted to, not because someone else expected it of him, and how Hotch used to be there for him in a way that no one else ever tried to be. 

Dean fought back a sniffle, stepping back and rubbing a hand over his face. Hotch gave him a moment, because even twelve years later, he still seemed to always know what Dean needed, before gesturing towards the other agent who was looking at them with obvious interest. “This is SSA Derek Morgan. He was with me last night, along with Dr. Spencer Reid. The other members of our team are aware of the situation as well.”

Morgan offered his hand, which Dean shook, matching the pressure Morgan applied. If this dude thought he was intimidating Dean, then he had another thing coming. 

“Speaking of last night,” Morgan started, backing up and crossing his arms over his chest with a vein throbbing along the edge of his neck. “Can you explain what the hell happened? What attacked us? Why couldn’t we see it? Will it go after Bromwell again?”

Dean swallowed thickly, running a hand over his drying hair. “Listen, I’m not sure this is something you want to be involved in, fellas. Once you know about the monsters hiding in your closet, it’s a lot more difficult to fall asleep. Better to just go home, move on with your lives, and pretend it never happened.” 

Hotch was quiet for a few moments as he walked over to the small table which still held the box of donuts and strewn papers from Sam’s research. He took a seat and clapped his hands together, resting them between his knees “I think that ship has officially sailed, Dean.” The agent told him with a frown tugging at his lips. “We could  _ taste _ the rotting flesh in the air when that  _ thing _ got close. I’m never going to forget the smell and feeling of damp saliva and warm blood hitting me as you attacked it. I  _ need _ to know the truth.”

Morgan nodded his agreement, his expression pinched as he remembered as well. 

“Fine,” Dean ground out between clenched teeth. He hated bringing newbies in on Supernatural business, but this was Hotch asking. He wasn’t sure he would ever really be able to say no to the man. “But I warned you, understand?”

They both acknowledged him with a slight bow of their head. 

He leaned back against one of the walls and let out a small sigh. “What you encountered last night was a hellhound. The demonic pit bulls from Hell. Literally,” he added when Morgan’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. “When someone sells their soul, they basically get a countdown clock on how much longer they’ve got on Earth. Usual deal is ten years. When the timer runs out, the hellhounds come to collect the human soul. They can only be seen by those whom they’ve come for.”

“What the fuck,” Morgan whispered, looking down at the ground and shaking his head. When his eyes met Dean’s again, he looked a little more than terrified. “You’re telling me that people actually  _ sell their souls _ ? And then go to hell after ten years? What kind of person would do something like that? And how were you able to see it?”

Dean grimaced, as he always did when he was reminded of his own choices and their subsequent consequences. Hell was the worst experience of Dean’s life, full stop. But if it saved Sammy, then he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. And the Mark of Cain? He never wanted to become a demon again, but at least his sight as former Knight of Hell carried over once he became human, at least it had saved Hotch. “I’m a special case.”

“Oh,” Hotch said underneath his breath, then looked up at Dean and Morgan. “The victims. They were all successful and at the top of their fields.” 

“You hit the nail on the head,” Dean agreed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “From our count, all of the victims within the last fifty years were all in their early twenties or so when they made the deal, which gave them ten years of climbing the corporate ladder quicker than they should have been able.”

Morgan stumbled over to Dean’s bed and sat down heavily with a grunt. “Shit. So this is  _ real _ . People are really selling their souls. Brenner, Evans, Bromwell, the previous victims. How would someone even do that?”

“It’s  _ all _ real, every scary story you’ve ever heard.” Dean found himself sliding down the wall until his ass was on the carpeted floor. “And that’s what we’re trying to figure out. Crossroad Demons are the only ones with the power to make the deals, but they’ve evolved with the times. Before, someone had to actually gather the correct ingredients and then bury it at a set of crossroads to summon the demon. But in the past few years, I’ve seen everything from prostitutes to skeezy lawyers doing the dirty work. It could be anyone.”

The two agents mulled over the new information for a few minutes while Dean tipped his head back against the wall. His temples throbbed in rhythm with the Mark, and he placed a hand over his arm to try and dull the tremors. 

“Dean,” Hotch called, with a worried tone that sounded as if it hadn’t been the first time he tried to get Dean’s attention. 

He blinked, trying to focus on clearing his vision.

“Are you okay?”

Dean flashed a cocky grin, or tried to at least. It probably came off more as a scowl. “I’m fine. Just...nothing. Everything’s fine.”

Hotch continued to watch him. “The man who visited us. Castiel. He said that you risked your own life to save mine. I thought it was simply because it was dangerous to attack the, uh, hellhound. But now...is there something else going on?”

Before Dean could answer, Morgan straightened with a look of alarm. “Castiel! James Novak. Who the hell is he? And how did he disappear like that?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, trust me.” Dean told them with a slight smirk. “Jimmy isn’t running the show anymore, it’s all Cas.”

“Like multiple personalities?”

Dean snorted. “No, and you shouldn’t try and profile Cas. He ain’t human.”

The two agents exchanged nervous glances. “He’s a monster too?”

“No,” Dean snapped, harsher than he intended. “He’s a dick sometimes, sure, but Cas is my best friend. He’s no monster.”

Hotch’s fingers intertwined, as if he was trying to keep himself patient. “What is he, then? And is there something going on with your tattoo? You keep touching and trying to avoid the question.”

“Well I wouldn’t if you two would ask one question at a time,” Dean argued. “Cas is an angel, alright? Dude’s got wings and shit. And it’s not a fucking tattoo. It‘s the  _ Mark _ .” He practically spat the word as if it tasted bitter in his mouth.

Morgan sucked in a sharp breath of air, but surprisingly didn’t ask about Cas again. He must have sensed that the Mark was the important piece of information. “...I’ll come back to the angel thing. What kind of mark?”

“It’s a long story,” Dean ground out, covering it once again as his temper spiked and sent another shiver down his spine. “Let’s just say I’m benched as of now and leave it, okay?”

Hotch was quiet for a few seconds before, “Okay, if you don’t want to tell us, we won’t force you to. But thank you for saving us from the hellhound. It puts the charges against you and your brother in a new light, at the very least.”

Dean couldn’t help but let out a snort. “Please, Sammy and I haven’t hurt anyone. We kill monsters. Demons. Ghosts. If the police mistake the bodies we’ve left behind for humans, that’s not our fault.” 

“But it is your problem,” Morgan pointed out unhelpfully. “You’ve got several warrants out for your arrest. We’ve never been able to nail down a solid profile on you. Not even Hotch, and he knew you from before.”   
  


His muscles stiffened as he looked over at Hotch, who’s expression hadn’t changed except for the tightness around his eyes. Dean thought back on Agent Henriksen’s profile, and everything the police thought he’d done. “You must have thought I was a monster.” 

Hotch didn’t acknowledge him verbally, but he did dip his head in what Dean hoped was guilt. Finally, he looked back up. “I have two of my team members combing through the crimes you were connected to. I want to see the evidence for myself under this new light.”

“I don’t know if we’ll be able to do anything for your case, but at least we’ll know.” Morgan supplied. 

Dean shrugged. At this point, he wasn’t too worried about being thrown in prison. Cas would bust him out eventually, if not Sam. The only problem he really had was that he would basically be a sitting duck for whatever demon or angel wanted to exact their revenge. 

“Listen, now that you know about our world, can you agree to shove off until we’ve found the crossroads demon? No offense, but you and your team will honestly just get in the way. You could get hurt, or even killed.”

Hotch stood to his feet, Morgan following suit. “I don’t think we can do that, Dean. Innocent people are dying and it’s our job to protect them.”    
  
“It’s not,” Dean argued. “You can handle the serial killers and human monsters, but this is  _ our _ kind of case. You don’t have any idea how to kill a demon, or even a hellhound. Go home, Hotch. I mean it.” 

“How are you planning on finding this crossroads demon?” Morgan interjected, stepping forward. “We can work together, right? Maybe you and your brother could be something like consultants.” 

“Sammy is working on that while Cas is protecting Bromwell in case the hellhound comes back. He’ll figure it out.” ‘

Hotch shook his head and pulled out his phone. “We aren’t saying he won’t, Dean, but I’ve got three of my agents working on finding a connection between the victims. We can help, but you have to let us. Since you're a man down, maybe you can show us how to kill the demon when we find it.”

Dean groaned and ran both of his hands through his hair. This was a bad idea. A really awful, shitty idea. But it made sense. The faster they tracked down the crossroads demon, the less of a chance the douchebag could make more deals. Sam would be pissed, that was for damn sure. Cas wouldn’t be pleased, but if it kept Dean out of it, then he was sure the angel would go for the new plan. 

“Fine,” he relented, his shoulder sagging with exhaustion. But I’m only explaining this once more, so we should get everyone together.”

Hotch gave him a small smile, the creases on the edges of his eyes crinkling with the movement. “Thank you, Dean. Morgan and I will discuss with our team and then we can meet up again tonight. Is the number you called me from a good way to reach you?” 

Dean nodded, returning Hotch’s grin. “Yeah, save it as anything other than Dean Winchester and I won’t trash it.” 

Morgan held out a hand, which Dean shook. “Tonight, then. Thanks again for saving our asses, Winchester.”

“Just doing my job, agents. Now get the hell out of here.”

XX

“What did you find, Garcia?” 

After Aaron and Morgan returned to the police station after their discussion with Dean, they wanted to get caught up on everything their team members had found out about the Winchesters. Prentiss, Rossi, and JJ were still out investigating the case, leaving Reid, Morgan, and Aaron in the closed off conference room of the station with Garcia on speakerphone. 

“ _ Well, first things first, your hunch that something funky was going on with these cases was spot on. Makes you wonder what kind of shoddy police work was going on behind the scenes and how quickly folks drew to the easiest conclusion without evidence.”  _ She explained with a slight scoff.

“What do you mean, Baby Girl?” Morgan asked from his seat a few chairs down from Aaron.

Reid was the one to answer, running a hand through his hair. “It’s definitely strange. The reports come in all different shapes and sizes, without much overlap except that they can all be traced back to some sort of lore explanation. Bodies drained of blood, hearts ripped out of chests, and the like. Plus, they all happened  _ before _ the Winchesters were reported as arriving into town. And then all of the strings of killings stopped after they left. The latter must have been suspicious if not looked at in conjunction with the timeline.”

“ _ Plus _ ,” Garcia added helpfully, “ _ none of the witnesses were willing to speak out against the Winchesters. There’s over fifty people reported that only had kind things to say about them. They actually got pretty defensive when asked about the brothers. There was one older lady who practically ran the officers off of her property.” _

Aaron wasn’t sure exactly what he should be feeling after finally hearing confirmation of what he’d been considering over the past twenty four hours. In the end, all he was filled with was relief that the boy he knew twelve years ago didn’t grow up to be some kind of sadistic, ritualistic, serial killer. 

“Although, there was the case in St. Louis where Dean Winchester was identified by the victim, Becky Sanderson, as the man who tortured her after she invited him into her home for a drink. He was later found dead, which was the first time one of the Winchesters was reported as such.” Reid huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “It doesn’t make any  _ sense _ . The body was buried and the case is closed, how are we meant to reconcile these cases with what we know now?”

The four of them looked at each other, hoping someone else would have the answers. Finally, Aaron cleared his throat. “I suggest we ask them.” 

Garcia’s breath caught over the line. “ _ What _ ?”

“Winchester helped clarify a few things when we spoke with him before,” Morgan answered for him. “Maybe he and his brother wouldn’t mind answering our questions about these cases. At least it would give us some peace of mind.” 

Aaron and Morgan reiterated everything Dean had told them in the hotel room, and Aaron felt no satisfaction in watching his team members’ eyes slowly fill with fear. Reid had already been on the fence about the supernatural after the attack last night, but Garcia had only heard about it through word of mouth. She hadn’t been there to watch her nightmares unfold around her. The silence on the other line was damning enough.

The two of them took a few minutes to let the new information soak in before Reid intertwined his fingers until he had a white knuckle-grip. “So we’re looking for a  _ demon _ ? A real life demon from Hell?”

“That’s the conclusion we’ve arrived at, yes,” Aaron confirmed. “I wanted to get the Winchester’s history before the team agreed to meet with them tonight. I think we should all see the evidence in a new light so that we could have some semblance of trust if we are to work together.”

“I say we meet with them and ask a few more questions of our own before sharing information about the case.” Morgan looked to his Unit Chief, but the tense set of his shoulders and the sharpness of his jawline told Aaron that they couldn’t jump into anything too quickly.

Aaron nodded, looking back at his team. “Fine. I’ll have the Winchesters and Castiel meet us at my hotel. I’ll book a room big enough to hold all of us. In the meantime, Morgan, update the others on everything we’ve discussed this afternoon.” His eyes dipped to stare at the phone cradled in his hand. “And let’s hope that we’re doing the right thing.”   
  
XX

“ _ Excuse me _ ,” Sam hissed, his face flushing with incredulity. “What the hell did you just say?”

Dean took another swig of his beer. He was right, the drink was essential in having this conversation. “I said we’ll be working with the BAU team on the case. We’re meeting at Hotch’s hotel in half an hour.”

“Are you insane?” His brother exploded, throwing his hands in the air. “The first thing they’re going to do is arrest us! Or did you somehow forget that we’re wanted felons?”

“If they wanted to arrest me, Sammy,” Dean told him through gritted teeth, “then they would have earlier when they came by.”

Both Sam and Cas stiffened at his words, their eyes darting around the room and towards the door. Cas recovered first. “The federal agents were here?”

“How did they find you?” Sam asked, fear replacing anger in his tone. “Are you okay?”

Dean shook his head, trying to reassure his family but unable to find the right words. “They’re feds, I’m sure they have their ways. But they mainly just wanted an explanation for last night. I told them about hellhounds and the crossroads demon, and they wanted to help out. Hotch promised that he wouldn’t bring us in.”

Sam watched him warily for a moment. “And you trust this guy? A man you haven’t seen in over twelve years?”

“He’s still the same guy, Sammy. I trust him to have our backs on this.”

When his brother didn’t respond right away, Dean looked to Cas, who was studying him with a crease between his brow. “I believe having help will be useful. You look terrible.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Dean muttered, but couldn’t bring himself to disagree. He thought he’d been getting better after his shower earlier, but once Hotch and Morgan left, the tremors in his arm had gotten worse. His body was exhausted from fighting off the call and bloodlust of the First Blade, and he was having a hard time concentrating. 

“He’s right, Dean,” Sam told him, looking more worried by the minute. Finally, he sighed and came to sit next to him on the bed. “Fine, we’ll see how things go tonight. If we can really trust them, then it will be nice to have backup. Plus, there has to be someone there that can stay with you.”

Dean managed to roll his eyes, but just barely. “I’m fine. I already told you that I don’t need a babysitter.” 

“I know, but having a friend sit with you to make sure you don’t do anything stupid can’t hurt.” 

“Bitch.”

“Jerk,” Sammy shot back, clapping a hand on Dean’s shoulder. 

  
XX

Dean was feeling slightly better as they walked into the lobby of the hotel, but it still took a fair amount of energy to shrug off the weariness that had settled over his shoulders. He looked around with interest, noting the modern decorations and sleek surfaces, a far cry from the rough motel they were staying in. Thankfully they didn’t have too long to stand there looking awkward and out of place because Hotch appeared around the corner, dressed in the same sharp suit from earlier. 

The man’s serious expression softened as his eyes found Dean, and Dean absolutely  _ refused _ to acknowledge how that look made him feel. Instead, he matched Hotch’s grin and shook his hand, gesturing towards his brother and angel. “Sammy, Cas, this is Hotch.” 

“We’ve met,” Cas muttered, not looking the least bit contrite for his earlier actions.

But Hotch once again proved that he was a good man by shrugging as if it was no big deal. “Yes, I did have the pleasure of making Castiel’s acquaintance last night. And I seem to remember you complaining that your younger brother insisted on being called Sam, not Sammy.” 

Sam raised his eyebrows, no doubt impressed, and took the offered hand. “I still can’t get him to quit calling me that, so it’s probably a lost cause.” 

“You’re right,” Dean grumbled, shooting his brother a smirk. “Too late now.” 

“It’s nice to formally meet you both. My team is down the hall, they’re looking forward to meeting you.” 

As he led them through the lobby and past the elevator doors, Sam mumbled under his breath, “Somehow I doubt that.” 

Hotch came to a stop in front of a closed door at the end of the hall, giving it a slight knock before pushing it open. Sitting around a long wooden conference table was Agent Morgan, the agent from the construction site, an older man with salt and peppered hair, and two beautiful women who were watching him through narrowed eyes. 

Sam shut the door behind them and Hotch cleared his throat. “Team, this is Sam and Dean Winchester, and their associate, Castiel.” His hand swept over each of the people sitting down as he introduced them. “These are SSA’s Derek Morgan, David Rossi, Jennifer Jareau, and Emily Prentiss, as well as Dr. Spencer Reid and our Technical Analyst on the line, Penelope Garcia.”

Before anyone could open their mouths to respond, Dr. Reid stumbled to his feet, almost knocking back his chair, his wide eyes fixated on Cas. “Are you really an  _ angel _ ? That’s what Morgan and Hotch said, but -” he shook his head. “That’s not possible.” 

Dean turned to catch Cas’ eye, silently communicating with his angel that proof was the best way to get through to these people. Cas watched him for a second longer before turning back to the BAU team. All at once, the lights in the room flickered ominously until they shut off completely, earning a surprised yelp that sounded as if it came from the Doc, Reid.. A faint glow shrouded Cas in a halo of light, making the sharp blue of his eyes brighter and providing enough light to show off the heavy, thick, and powerful wings folding out of the angel’s back. 

He could hear the collective intake of breath from the BAU team, but Dean only had eyes for Cas. 

He was  _ beautiful _ . 

As quickly as it came, the lights shuddered back on and Cas once again looked like an overworked tax accountant dressed in a disheveled trench coat. 

The Doc had plopped back into his chair with his mouth agape, swallowing thickly in an attempt to wrap his mind around what he just saw. “I stand corrected.” 

Hotch let his team stare for at least thirty seconds longer until he cleared his throat and gestured for Dean, Sam, and Cas to take a seat. “Now that we have that out of the way...I’ve already briefed my team on our discussion from this afternoon. However, there were some concerns we wanted to address before we shared sensitive information about this case.” 

Dean snorted, sharing a glance with his brother. “You mean you want to make sure Sam and I aren’t some kind of crazy freaks who go on murderous binges?” 

“Well can you blame us?” The dark haired woman, Prentiss - Dean remembered, shot back. He liked her, she had fire. 

He shrugged. She was right, of course. Dean hadn’t really been keeping up with what the police blamed them for, so it could be anything at this point. “Go ahead and ask, then.”

Morgan leaned forward with his elbows resting on the edge of the conference table. “Tell us about St. Louis.” 

“Shapeshifters,” Sam replied immediately. “If they touch you, they can literally  _ become _ you. Memories, DNA, you name it. They’re super strong, super fast, and damn near indestructible. In St. Louis, one mimicked Dean and went after a friend of mine, Becky. We caught up with him with a silver bullet to the heart.” 

Rossi let out a long whistle. “That would explain why Dean Winchester’s body was found, yet here you are.”

“Sure,” Dean told him easily. No need to get into the fact that both he and his brother had died multiple times, only to be resurrected later. “And we weren’t killed in Colorado either.” 

“What happened there?” Agent Jareau asked, her expression still tight with mistrust. “It was reported as an explosion, killing Agent Henriksen and an entire station of officers.”

Sam grimaced beside him. “That was Lillith, the first demon Lucifer ever created. Agent Henriksen had already let Dean and I go after he was possessed, and he finally realized that we were telling the truth. Unfortunately, Lilith came by the station looking for us. She killed them all.”

“Shit,” Morgan breathed out, rubbing a hand over his face. “Why would someone like that be after you?”

“The Winchesters were essential in the War of the Seals. The Host of Heaven fought to the death against the armies of Hell until we were ultimately unsuccessful in stopping the rise of Lucifer.” Castiel explained in a low, rough voice. 

The room was very, very quiet after that. 

“Lucifer? Like the  _ devil _ ?” Prentiss whispered, as if speaking any louder could make him appear. 

“It’s a long story,” Sam frowned and chanced a look at Dean, guilt lining his expression. “One we really, really shouldn’t go into. All you need to know is that Lucifer is back in his cage.”

“And this is all real?” Reid repeated incredulously. “ _ It’s all real _ . Mother fu-“

Hotch cleared his throat abruptly. “I believe it is in our best interest to focus on the matter at hand. The crossroads demon, correct?” 

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “Somehow this son of a bitch is convincing young twenty-somethings to give up their soul for success in their careers. The usual deal is ten years, so we’re guessing that they’re working along this time frame too.”

“Is it always ten years?” Rossi asked.

“Not always,” Sam answered, shooting a dark look at Dean. 

Whatever. Dean refused to regret his actions. He shrugged and ignored his brother, an action he noticed Hotch take note of. “Anyway, we need to find how the demon is finding its victims. Once we track the son of a bitch down, then we’ll need to gank it.” 

Agent Jareau checked her phone before chiming in. “How do we kill a demon? Exorcism?” 

“That works, but we’ve learned that simply exorcising demons leaves room for them to come back and fuck with you later on down the line,” Dean told them with a scowl. “We’ll want to lure them into a Devil’s Trap, and then either Cas can kill ‘em right then and there, or we could use the Colt, Ruby’s Knife, or an Angel Blade.” His eyes flickered over to his brother and Cas before adding on, “the First Blade would work too.”

“ _ No _ ,” Sam snarled, pushing to his feet almost as quickly as Cas.

The angel glared at him with flared nostrils. “You will remain here while we dispose of the demon, Dean. You will  _ not _ call the First Blade. We have other weapons we can use.” 

Dean threw up his hands in defence. “I wasn’t saying I  _ should _ use it! She asked what could kill a demon. I was just telling her what we know. I swear.” 

“Are we missing something?” Hotch asked with furrowed brows, maneuvering around the sudden tension in the room. “Does this have to do with the mark on your arm?”

And that was not the right thing to say, apparently. 

Sam practically growled as he reached a hand to grip Dean’s shoulder tightly. “Let me get one thing clear for you people: Dean has already risked his life for you once, and he will not be doing it again. When we find this demon, Dean will be back at the motel room or sitting his ass right here, as long as he’s nowhere near the fight. None of you have earned the right to answers beyond what we’ve already told you. Either you’re comfortable working with us, or you go home and let us take care of it.” 

“Jesus, Sammy,” Dean grumbled, a little taken aback at his brother’s rage. The feds certainly didn’t deserve to be chewed out like that.

“It’s not up for negotiation,” Sam shot back, eyeing the BAU team. “Take it or leave it.” 

Hotch turned slowly and made eye contact with everyone else, silently tracking their answers to Sam’s ultimatum. Finally, he returned his attention to the hunters. “As you wish. We will remain on topic from now on. You were explaining how to kill a demon?”

Sam seethed for a bit longer before blowing out a shaky breath. This grip on Dean’s shoulder loosened, but didn’t let go completely. “We can teach you how to draw a Devil’s Trap and the Latin incantation for your own protection, and in case Cas and I need help.”

“Excellent,” Rossi grinned, clapping his hands together in anticipation. The rest of the team did not seem to share his enthusiasm.

Xx

Turns out, Prentiss and Reid picked up Latin extraordinarily quickly. Apparently they both spoke multiple languages, Prentiss because she grew up as an Ambassador’s daughter, and Reid because he was a genius and spent his free time collecting degrees as if they were comic books. 

Agents Jareau and Rossi had the most artistic ability on the team, and had been able to draw the Devil’s Trap after the first few attempts. 

“So Cas will have his Angel Blade and I’ll have the Colt,”

Dean said, leaning back in his chair. “I think we should let Hotch use Ruby’s knife. He’ll need something if he’s going in with you. It’s not like regular bullets will work.” 

Sam frowned, but didn’t argue. He looked over at the Unit Chief with a considering look. “As long as you and your team do exactly what we tell you. You are all out of your depth on this one.” 

“Hold on,” Morgan interrupted, holding up his hand. “If this demon is possessing someone, wouldn’t it’s host be human? Would we be killing an innocent person?” 

Dean grimaced. “Technically, yes. But, this crossroads demon has been in business for a long time, and demons aren’t known to treat their hosts gently. It’s a rough ride, and chances are that the body has been dead for years.”

“What if it decides to leave that body and try to possess one of us?” Agent Jareau asked with fear in her eyes. “Or one of you?”

“Angels cannot be possessed,” Cas told her.

Sam and Dean both tugged the collar of their shirts down to show off their chests. “Anti-possession tattoos,” his brother explained. “But you bring up a good point. Whoever is going with us should get protection amulets.” He turned towards Cas with raised eyebrows. “Think you can pick a few up?”

The angel nodded, but not before turning a critical eye on Dean. “Yes, as long as Dean is taken home to rest soon.”

Dean scoffed at the implication. He was  _ fine _ , thank you very much. 

Kind of. 

Sure, the edges of his vision had begun to blur from the pain pushing at his temples, and yeah, his blood pulsed in rhythm with the throbbing beneath the Mark, but he was  _ fine _ . 

Beside him, both Sam and Hotch’s expression had twisted with worry, and he didn’t need the two of them working against him. Friggin’ chick flick moments. 

Before he could argue, Cas disappeared with a flutter of his wings, kicking up a weak twister that blew threw their hair. Several of the agents cursed. 

“That’s just-“ Dr. Reid gaped, eyes still fixated on the now empty spot. 

“Rossi, why don’t you, JJ, and Prentiss debrief the Winchesters on what you found?” Hotch suggested, not taking his eyes off of Dean. He wasn’t even sure if the agent had particularly cared that an angel had quite literally teleported beside him. 

“Right,” Rossi stood to his feet and put a hand in the pocket of his slacks. “The three of us divided and conquered to dig deeper into the lives of the victims. I spoke with Matthew Bromwell at his home, and yes -“ he told Sam and Dean, “the house and each room was covered with a few layers of salt.” 

They nodded their relief. As long as the idiot didn’t screw with the lines, then he should be fine, for now.

“He was less helpful than expected,” Rossi continued. “After that night at the construction site, Bromwell retreated into himself and took to muttering about big, black dogs. I called in a psychologist to help him. However, he didn’t seem too upset with me searching his home.”

“While he spoke with Bromwell, I got in contact with Deborah Brenner’s family. Apparently, back in college she started getting into the habit of visiting a psychic. Her mother confirmed that she refused to go back to one over the past few months after an undisclosed incident.” Agent Jareau said. 

Prentiss pulled out a plastic sandwich bag that contained a bronze coin. “ _ Madame Althea _ . I found this with her signature in Zachary Evan’s apartment after a secondary sweep. When I reached out to Rossi and JJ, they took a look around Brenner and Bromwell's homes as well. We finally found the connection between all of our victims.”

“They all went to visit the same psychic?” Dean asked with interest, relief that they finally found something to move this case along evident in his voice.

Rossi gave him a slight smirk. “You bet your ass they did. When I mentioned the name to Bromwell, he became even more hysterical, which was saying something. I took that as a sign that we were headed in the right direction. We checked Madame Althea out on the internet and found that she and her assistant have been in business for over fifty years. We have the address to both her home and business.”

“That’s great,” Sam said as he stood up once again and pulled on Dean’s arm. “Thanks for the info, we can meet up again in the morning and go from there.”

Dean grumbled the whole way, but let his brother lead him from the room with a wave over his shoulder to the BAU team. Before they could get too far, Hotch called out his name, making them stop in their tracks. 

“Can I speak with you for a moment?” 

Sam frowned, but relented after a glaring contest with Dean. “Five minutes, and then you gotta get some rest.”

“Yes,  _ mom _ ,” he hissed, shooing his brother away. Once he was gone, Dean turned towards Hotch with an expectant brow raised. “What’s up?”

Hotch sighed heavily and placed both hands on his hips before leaning in closer. “Dean, are you alright?”

He blinked in surprise. “Just dandy.”

The glare that greeted him was exasperated, yet fond. “Obviously something is going on. I know you risked your life for my team and I the other night, and it’s put you in some kind of pain.” Hotch grimaced and ran a hand over his face. “I’ve spent the last few years believing you were  _ dead _ . That I had failed the sixteen year old kid I met so many years ago. I would appreciate the truth, but I understand if you feel the need to keep it to yourself.” 

“I…” Dean hesitated. He hadn’t even considered what Hotch must have thought after he had been reported dead so many times over. There wasn’t any  _ harm _ in telling the older man the truth, except for the fact that he would worry even more. But it would ensure that Hotch didn’t feel as if he was being kept at arms distance…

“It’s a long story,” he finally said, turning his arm over to show off the current bane of his existence. “It’s the Mark of Cain. The son of a bitch himself transferred it to me when we needed some extra firepower. But…”’ He clicked his tongue. “It’s a curse. From the great douchebag in the sky himself. It makes my body  _ need _ the First Blade, makes my blood demand a kill. Demand blood. Eventually it will get to the point where I can’t control it.”

Hotch was quiet as he watched Dean closely. Finally, a frown tugged at his lips. “That’s not the whole story, is it?”

Dean shook his head slowly. “No. If-if I die with the Mark, then I become a demon. A Knight of Hell. We don’t exactly have time to go into the hierarchy of the underworld.”

“Why do I get the feeling that this is experiencing talking rather than hypothetics?” 

“Because it is,” he admitted quietly. “Sammy and Cas were able to find a way to bring me back, but it’s still...it’s still fresh. None of us have quite gotten over it.”

Hotch stepped forward and placed both hands on Dean’s shoulders, looking him right in the eye. “And still after all of that, you still risked your life to save mine, and my team’s. Thank you, Dean.” His grip tightened. “You’re a good man, and the world deserves to know that.”

Before Dean could respond, Sam called out, “Time’s up!” 

Hotch let his hands fall after patting Dean on the arm one last time. “Of course, Dean needs to rest. Thank you both.” He offered one last handshake for Sam before turning to head back into the hotel. 

Sam tugged Dean along. “What did you tell him?” 

He shrugged, letting his brother lead him to the Impala. “The truth.”

XX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to work tomorrow...bleh. I hope you all had a wonderful holiday season. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

When Sam awoke the next morning, he was relieved to find that Dean was more or less back to normal. The dark bags that had begun to form underneath his eyes had vanished, and the tense set of his shoulders were relaxed. He would never admit it to Dean, because his brother was allergic to chick flick moments, but the effects of the First Blade scared the shit out of Sam. 

They didn’t understand what was happening the first time around, so Dean had continued to use the First Blade even though it began changing him. Now, it seemed like the First Blade _knew_ what Dean was capable of, and that it was doing everything in its power to turn him back into a demon, even though the damn thing was hundreds of miles away. 

Sam was thankful that at least his brother understood the risks and had decided to stay behind on the action today. When he glanced at Dean out of the corner of his eye as they drove back to the hotel to meet the BAU team, Sam could tell that he was nervous, but ultimately at peace with his decision. 

Which confused the hell out of Sam. For one, Dean had _never_ been one to trust other hunters. If a job needed doing, then there was no one better than Dean, Sam, and Cas working together. But the moment Agent Hotchner shows up, Dean is suddenly cool with letting him run off and do the dirty work? It didn’t make any sense. Sure, when his brother described his time at Sonny’s all those years ago, his eyes had glazed over from the fond memories, and sure, Agent Hotchner was one of the adults in Dean’s life that didn’t let him down and….

Sam groaned to himself internally. _That was it._ Dean and Sam hadn’t exactly grown up like normal children, although Dean had done his best to give Sam whatever he needed so that he didn’t have to worry about much. It was what landed Dean at Sonny’s in the first place. His brother spent his entire life pretending to be an adult because everyone in their life expected it of him. Agent Hotchner was the first person to encourage Dean to simply be a child, and encouraged him to live his life the way he wanted. Bobby would always be a father figure to both Winchester boys, but they didn’t have prolonged exposure to the man due to their father’s constant travels. Dean had spent two months alongside Agent Hotchner being a normal kid. 

What would their lives be like if Dean had told their father to shove it up his ass when he came back around for him? Would Sam have stayed with John? Or would he have ended up with Bobby? Would Dean have gone off to college, or become a mechanic? He and Dean certainly wouldn’t have the relationship they do now, that was for sure. Maybe Sam wouldn’t have made it without his brother looking out for him. 

And that was the crux of it. 

  
Dean would never leave Sam on his own accord. But Sam...he left his brother. Left him to go to college and didn’t even think about looking back. He should have _fought_ for his brother, because leaving Dean alone with John was one of the worst things he could have done. Knowing what he did now, Sam was nauseous thinking about all of the shit Dean went through to keep him safe. If he would have just told Dean he wanted him with him in California, that he _needed him_ , then Dean would have come, there was no doubt in Sam’s mind. His commitment to Sam had always been greater than his duty to John. 

“Stop thinking so hard, Sammy,” Dean groused, slapping him lightly on the chest to bring him out of his thoughts. “You’ll hurt yourself.” 

Sam swallowed thickly around a sudden lump in his throat and turned to face his brother. Dean hated chick flick moments, but Sam couldn’t leave Dean alone without talking to him about this. “I’m sorry.”

Dean’s eyes widened in confusion, but he seemed to feel the seriousness behind Sam’s gaze because he took a moment to pull off the road. When he shifted the Impala into park, his brother turned to face him fully. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry that you had to leave Sonny’s and Hotch when you were a kid because you needed to be there for me.” He continued before Dean could open his mouth to argue. “And I’m sorry that I didn’t insist that you come to Stanford with me when I left.” 

Dean snorted, but it was a muted, strangled sound. “I never could have gotten into Stanford, Sammy.”

Sam shrugged, “But you could have moved to California to be with me. You could have taken classes until you transferred, if that’s what you wanted. You could have opened up a shop. You could have done _anything_. I know how smart you are, Dean. But I was a selfish son of a bitch who was only thinking about getting away from hunting, and away from Dad. I’m sorry that I didn’t bring you with me, when all you’ve ever done is be there for me.”

“I…” Dean hesitated, a sheen glassing over his hazel eyes, then shook his head. “Where is all of this coming from? You’ve never mentioned any of this before.” 

“I couldn’t figure out why you were so different with Agent Hotchner,” Sam explained with furrowed brows. “It was _something_ , but I couldn’t put my finger on it. And then, while we were driving, I figured it out. I’ve never seen you interact with someone who hasn’t let you down before.” 

Dean’s lips parted in shock. 

Before he could come up with a retort, Sam pushed ahead. “No, seriously Dean. Everyone we trust, everyone who knows about the supernatural, they’ve done something that’s only reiterated the fact that we can only rely on each other. And even then, I’ve screwed up. Cas has screwed up. We’ve both let you down in some way, shape, or form. But this BAU agent?” Sam ran a hand over his face. “You haven’t even argued about staying behind because you trust that he’ll get the job done now that he knows the truth. It wasn’t even a question for you.” 

“Stop,” Dean rasped, his voice thick and shaky. “Just...stop, Sammy.” He turned to face the windshield, placing a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. “Let’s just...go. We’ve gotta go. They’re waiting on us.”

“Dean-”

But his brother had already pulled back onto the road and didn’t look at Sam again. The rest of the car ride was silent until Dean mumbled, “Bitch.”

And Sam knew everything was okay between them.

“Jerk.”

XX

When they arrived at the hotel and made their way to the conference room Agent Hotchner booked, Cas was already there. The BAU team greeted them with more warmth than the evening before, and Sam deduced it might have something to do with the literal angel standing before them. 

Apparently, Cas had popped in about thirty minutes before Sam and Dean showed up, and spent that time distributing the anti-possession necklaces and answering any questions the team had. 

“So your true form is really the size of the Chrysler building?” Agent Prentiss - Emily, asked with her lips tilted upwards. 

“Indeed,” Cas nodded solemnly. “When Pamela Barnes witnessed my true form against my wishes, it burned her eyes out.”

“Uh…” JJ, the blonde agent muttered beside Emily, sharing a look across the table with Rossi, the agent who had written the books Sam had read back in the bunker. “Thank you, uh, for not doing that to us.” 

“I have grown fond of this vessel. I do not wish to damage it.” 

“Right,” Penelope, the technical analyst on the video call, said with a smirk. “Your vessel is one handsome devil. Not as beautiful as my chocolate thunder over there,” she jerked her head towards Agent Morgan - Derek. “But still…”

Sam tried to cover his amused cough when Dean spun around on his heel and glared at Penelope on the screen. _Hard_. He moved quicker than Sam expected, shuffling over until he was shoulder to shoulder with Cas. “I think it’s time to get started, don’t you think?” 

Cas blinked, as if surprised at Dean’s appearance. Sam barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Those two were the most oblivious love-struck idiots he’d ever met. 

Hotch cleared his throat, but there was a slight smile touching his lips, so Sam knew the Unit Chief didn’t miss the interaction either, or Dean’s response. “Yes. If Castiel and Sam are agreeable, I suggest we split up. Half of us go to the psychic's home while the others go to her place of business. Whichever place she isn’t, then we can set up a few Devil’s Traps and lie in wait.”

“That’s actually a good idea,” Sam said with raised eyebrows. “Nobody should confront her alone. The crossroads demon is too powerful for that.”

“The demon will also be aware of Sam or I,” Cas pointed out. 

Derek nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. “Then one of us can go in to check. If we’re not attacking, then we should be fine.” 

“Whoever you send in should at least be prepared with either a weapon or the language for an exorcism,” Sam suggested. “You might not engage, but demons are hard to predict.”

“Fine,” Hotch agreed. “JJ, I want you to stay here with Dean. If anything happens, or we need backup for any reason, you can come find us.” 

Dean scoffed, looking over at Hotch, with a frown. “If something goes wrong, then -”

“Then there are enough of us to handle it,” Hotch interrupted with a sharp look. “This is why we’re working together, is it not? You can’t be a player this time around, Dean. I won’t allow you to be harmed any more than you already have, not while I’m around.” 

Dean’s eyes were wide, and he looked as if someone had sucker-punched him right in the stomach. Sam was in shock too. He couldn’t remember the last time someone put his brother’s safety ahead of the mission. It physically hurt to think about. 

Hotch must have sensed that Dean needed a few moments to catch up, because his attention shifted to his team once again without pause. “Prentiss, Morgan, and Rossi will go with Castiel to the psychic’s place of business, while Reid, Sam, and I will visit her home.” He turned to Sam. “Does that work for you two?”

Sam checked with Cas, who gave a small shrug. “Guess so. Remember, whichever place she isn’t at, go ahead and set up a few traps, and then we can reconvene and attack tonight.”

“Excellent,” Hotch nodded. “Then let’s go.” 

XX

Dean was not sulking. 

He wasn’t. 

“ _You are, just a bit_ ,” Garcia teased gently through the video feed. He had to admit that he liked her, but was still feeling a little ruffled after her blatant flirting with Cas. Not that he cared. The angel could do whatever he wanted. Really. But this chick had flirted with him and Morgan in the same breath. Cas didn’t need that. 

So instead of pretending to be pleasant, Dean simply scowled at her.

JJ tried giving him a patient smile, but he could tell that she was still uncomfortable around him. “We all need to sit one out every now and then. There’s no shame in it.”

“I’ve never been benched before,” he admitted, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in the leather chair. “I hate it.” 

“We all do, but it just means we trust our teams to get the job done. You do trust your team, don’t you?” JJ asked while tapping a pen on the wooden table. 

Dean found himself nodding, despite his annoyance. “Of course I do. Sammy and Cas know what they’re doing, plus, Hotch won’t do anything stupid. I assume the same goes for the rest of them.” 

“ _They’re the best of the best,_ ” Garcia boasted with a wide grin. “ _Emily worked with Interpol before the FBI, Rossi is a retired Marine Corps Sergeant Major and one of the founders of the BAU, Spencer is one of the most intelligent men in the country, on top of being an excellent agent, and Derek was on the bomb squad in Chicago before he joined the FBI. Based on your previous relationship with Hotch, I assume you already know his background_.” 

“Ugh, you make it sound like Hotch and I had some kind of torrid affair,” Dean scrunched up his nose in disgust. “Dude was like ten years older than me, and I was _sixteen_. He just took care of me, and not in whatever fucked up way you clowns are used to dealing with.” 

JJ’s attempt to hide a smile was Dean’s clue that Garcia was screwing with him. “Oh.” 

The girls both broke out into chuckles, and a thought occurred to Dean. 

“Hey, Hotch said that he helped write up a profile on me and Sam. What did it say?”  
  


JJ and Garcia’s expressions turned more serious, and they shared a wary look. “Hey, I wanna know. I won’t hold it against him or anything like that. The dude thought I had turned out to be some crazy psychopath. Can’t blame him for doing his job.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea…” JJ started, but Dean leaned forward to give her his best impression of Sam’s puppy-dog look. 

“Come on, there’s nothing else to do while we wait. And you know Hotch will let me see it if I ask.” 

Garcia groused and shrugged. “ _He’s probably right, Jayje. Boss has a soft spot for Pretty Eyes over here._ ” 

Dean shot her a wink. “Right back at you, Sweetheart.” 

JJ rolled her eyes. “Fine, Garcia, can you send it over?”

“ _Sure thing, Sugar Plum_.”

JJ pulled out her tablet from the backpack sitting on the floor. She spent a few seconds pulling up the file before sliding it over to Dean. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Dean grinned at her in thanks and started reading. 

_Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU) Profile on Sam and Dean Winchester (Delivered by Unit Chief, Aaron Hotcher)_

  1. _Psyche: Our analysis suggests that Dean is the enforcer of the brothers. Being the older sibling, he has sway over his brother, and we suspect that he uses the disappearance of Moore as leverage over Sam when they initially meet to encourage Sam to join in his activities._
  2. _This doesn't negate Sam's agency. The act of Moore's disappearance, with the return to his familial structure, has led Behavioral Analysts who worked in the 1980's to suggest a Satanic Cult. The idea, while challenged, may hold part truths. Moore may have been Sam's initiation to the family, or a way to apologize for leaving the group. What we know of the family structure and environment suggests that both Sam and Dean have been raised without societal norm morals._
  3. _At many crime scenes, the brothers impersonate FBI (or other police forces) officers to obtain access_ t _o the crime scene. They also often continue to assist in the case, possibly to divert the facts, or to revel in no one suspecting them. This is highly narcissistic behavior._


  * _Both brothers exhibit psychopathy (through the string of deaths and corpse desecration that follows them across America), and Dean exhibits Machiavellianism through the leadership it is believed he has within the pair._


  1. _They are also linked to decades of fraud and identity theft. This furthers the evidence of psychopathy, showing an utter lack of empathy for their actions._
  2. _Prognosis: The brothers exhibit characteristics of the Dark Triad. They are suspected to be highly dangerous and armed at all times. Narcissism may be our advantage as they seem to believe they are on a greater journey, so seem unwilling to die. With sufficient planning we can prevent them from making the engagement planning. Many years of unstable familial structures with a neglectful and amoral father has raised two brothers that seem to have no cares for anyone but each other._



Dean grimaced as a knot twisted in the pit of his stomach. The words hurt, even though he knew they weren’t true. The profile made him and his brother sound like monsters that could be understood and hunted by picking apart their previous actions, despite the fact that the police had gotten it all wrong. 

“We know better now, of course.” JJ tried to comfort him, but he ignored her by sliding the tablet back across the table. “And Hotch does, too. He’s already asked Garcia to pull the file from the database.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at both women. “Really?”

Garcia nodded, the sound of her fingers flying over the keyboard echoing over the line. “ _Of course, my young Padawan. If Hotch knows that something is wrong, he’s not the type to simply let it go. Surely you know that._ ” 

“It has been twelve years,” he smirked, channeling some nonchalance to hide his instinct to read the profile over and over again. “He could have changed since then. I certainly did.” 

“I doubt you're fundamentally different from the boy Hotch helped all those years ago,” JJ argued lightly. “You’re still protective over your little brother, aren’t you?” 

Dean scoffed. This chick had _no idea_ what he’d gone through for Sammy. None of them did.

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “I thought so. And you’re obviously the kind of man who thinks about others before himself, if the other night is any indication. Hotch has probably already said this, but thank you for saving my friends. We’re a family here at the BAU, and I would be devastated if I had lost any of them to the hellhound at the construction site.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Garcia agreed. “ _In all seriousness, you’re kind of my hero right now_.”

Dean’s cheeks flushed at the praise, but neither one of the ladies would let him wave it off.   
  
“You’re a good guy, Dean,” JJ told him. “And the others will be fine, don’t worry.”

XX

“Sam, how many monsters would you say that you and your brother have hunted during your lifetime?” Reid asked from the backseat of Hotch’s sleek black Escalade. 

He blinked at the question, his mind trying to work through everything he and Dean had seen since they were kids. “Uh, a lot. Hundreds. Why?”

“Well, let’s say the two of you have killed around three hundred monsters collectively. If the majority of your hunts have been within the last ten years, and assuming you two hunt as a team, then that would mean that you run into about thirty monsters per year on average. It makes me wonder what the statistics are on the human to monster, or demon, ratio.” 

Sam turned to look at Hotch, who had an amused smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “Remind me to introduce you to our friend Charlie. I have a feeling the two of you would get along. She’s been working on a digital bestiary for us.”

Reid’s grin was _blinding_. 

Twenty minutes later, the three of them were pulling up to a curb three mailboxes down from the address they received from Rossi. Hotch suggested it to keep attention off of the psychic’s house, and Sam had agreed. As the Unit Chief stepped out of the Escalade, Sam felt... _off_ for some reason. He didn’t like hunting without his brother, and being separated from Cas didn’t sit right with him. 

It made sense to split the groups up, and the BAU team was certainly capable enough, but there was an uncomfortable twinge in his chest as he watched Hotch make his way towards the house. He knocked on the door once, and when nobody answered, Hotch knocked again, this time alerting his presence vocally. 

Sam shared a glance with Reid when the Unit Chief started checking windows, and followed the agent out of the car when Hotch gave them the signal that everything was clear.

“Cas must have had better luck,” Sam muttered as he pulled out his kit and started working on the lock. 

Reid stepped closer to attempt to block Sam’s attempts from any curious onlookers. “How often do you break into people’s homes?” 

Sam gave him a sheepish smile when the lock clicked open and the knob gave way. “I really don’t think you want me to answer that question.” He shrugged and led the two agents inside. “My dad taught us how to break out of cuffs before I could even ride a bike. Other locks came later.”

Hotch frowned at him, but didn’t comment. The three of them drew their weapons silently as they searched the home to double check that they were alone. Sam directed the two agents upstairs while he swept the first floor.

It was a nicer home than he was expecting for a demon that had been around for over fifty years, the wooden laminate floors and black marble countertops were surprisingly modern. The dark decor reminded him strangely of Crowley, but he grimaced and pushed that thought as far back into his mind as he could. That jackass was the reason they were in this mess with the Mark.

Hotch and Reid came down the stairs once they confirmed the house was clean, and looked to Sam for direction. He pulled a few paint and chalk pens out of his jacket pocket and tossed them to the agents. “Go ahead and draw a Devil’s Trap underneath the rug in the kitchen and the one in the living room. I’ll handle the doormat.”

They broke off once again to get started. Thirty minutes later, Sam was checking over the agents’ work when his phone rang. 

He cursed, the pit in his stomach expanding and twisting with dread, and put the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

“ _Sam, something went wrong_.”

“Fuck,” Sam gritted his teeth and put the angel on speaker. “What happened?”

There was a crinkle of static on the other line before - “ _Hotch_!” Emily said, her voice calm with a hidden undercurrent of panic. “ _Morgan and Rossi went in to confirm the psychic and her assistant were inside like we planned, but they somehow knew we were coming. The doors locked about ten minutes after they went inside and even Castiel can’t get in. They’re doing something to keep him out!_ ”

Sam watched a dozen different emotions pass over Hotch and Reid’s faces before the Unit Chief took a sharp intake of breath. “You and Castiel stand down. We’ll meet you there. Do not engage.” 

“I’ll call Dean to let him know what’s going on,” Sam told them before hanging up and hitting his brother’s speed dial. He followed Hotch and Reid out of the house as the ringer clicked off. 

“ _Finished already?_ ”

“Dean,” Sam stressed. “Agents Morgan and Rossi are trapped inside of the demon’s shop. They locked them in and are somehow keeping Cas out. We might need JJ as backup.”

He climbed inside of the Escalade and Hotch wasted no time in peeling out onto the road.

“ _We’re on our way._ ” 

“No,” Sam barked. “Stay at the hotel. We can handle this.”

Dean scoffed on the other line, “ _sounds like you’re already in trouble. I won’t jump in on the action, but you can’t keep me out of this when two civilians are at stake_.”

Before Sam could argue anymore, his brother hung up. He sighed, looking over at Hotch, whose jaw was tight with frustration. “He’s coming, isn’t he?” 

“That’s Dean,” he groused. 

The rest of the trip was tense, with Reid asking after how they could fight the demons and Sam answering in clipped tones. Since Dean was headed to the shop, they would have the Impala and could start off with the sawed-off shotguns loaded with rock salt, the tire irons, and holy water preserves. Whatever spell the demons were working with to keep Castiel out, it couldn’t last forever. 

When they finally pulled up, JJ and Dean were stepping out of the Impala beside the BAU team’s SUV. His brother’s expression brokered no argument, so Sam simply shot him a dirty look and followed him to the trunk. The others gathered around while Dean kicked open the false bottom with a shotgun and started passing out their weapons.

“Someone must have tipped them off, so they probably want something. My guess is that your guys are still alive in there.” Dean considered, rather tactfully in Sam’s opinion.

“You think they’re bargaining chips?” Emily asked as she flipped the tire iron deftly between her fingers. This obviously wasn’t the first time she had used a blunt weapon.

Sam shrugged, looking over his shoulder at the storefront windows. He started when he saw a pale, drawn face looking back at him behind the dirty glass. “Look. They’re watching us.”

The others turned towards the windows, eyes narrowed in the now afternoon sun. He hated dealing with these types of situations in the daytime, but they seemed to be lucky enough to be isolated if the miles of trees around them were any indication. 

The face disappeared momentarily before an envelope was pushed underneath the aging wooden door. 

They looked at each other warily before Cas stepped forward to pick up and bring it back to their group. He opened it up and tugged out a blood red piece of cardstock with black lettering. His brow furrowed and his gaze shot up to Dean. 

“What does it say?” Reid asked.

The corners of Cas’ lips twitched downwards as he read out, “Have the Knight call the First Blade, and your friends will be returned to you.” 

Sam’s eyebrows disappeared beneath his long hair. “What the hell? What are they playing at?” 

Dean was frowning as his arms crossed over his chest. 

“What’s the First Blade?” JJ asked, followed by Reid inquiring about who the “Knight,” in the request is. 

Hotch was watching Dean steadily. Without answering his team’s question, he asked, “Do they want you to become one of them? Is that what this is?”

Dean shook his head exasperated. “It doesn’t make any sense. With the First Blade I’m unstoppable. I’d kill them all while I’ve still got my head.”

“But this time around you would fall quicker,” Cas shot back. “Maybe that’s what they’re counting on?”

Sam’s stomach dropped heavily as he thought about why he had been feeling so on edge during this case. “I don’t think so. I think this might have been a set up.” 

“What?” Reid turned to him with a tight expression. “Why do you think that?” 

“It’s been too flashy since the beginning, especially for a crossroads demon,” Sam explained. “They’re smarter than they used to be, and it’s a lot more difficult to track them down these days. They stop working with patterns, move around more. But when the electrical storms hit, I picked up on it immediately.” 

Dean let out a breath and leaned against his car. “Crowley?” 

“I don’t know, does that make sense? He couldn’t control you the first time. What would make him think he’d be safe from you the second time around?” 

“I’m sorry,” Emily hesitated, “I’m lost. What exactly are we talking about here?” 

Sam shared a look with Dean, and watched him do the same with the Hotch, which made something in his chest burn with annoyance. 

Finally, his brother shrugged and rubbed a hand over his face. “Alright, quick version. I have the Mark of Cain,” he twisted his arm to show the agents. “A curse the big man placed on the actual Cain which caused him to kill his brother. When paired with the First Blade, I’m pretty much an uncontrollable rage monster that can kill almost anything. But if I die, then I come back as a demon, a Knight of Hell. I can be turned back into a human through a blood transfusion, but it’s a real bitch of a process, and Cas is the only one strong enough to keep me in check.” 

The others were quiet as they took in the new information. 

It was Reid who broke the silence. “So you think that someone drew you here so that you can become a demon again?”

“Maybe,” Sam answered. “It’s a hell of a risk, and whoever it is had to know that we were keeping Dean on lockdown and away from the First Blade.” 

Dean stiffened, drawing everyone’s attention. “What is it?” Emily asked. 

Dean’s gaze snapped from Cas, to Sam, before finally landing on Hotch. “If they knew I was keeping a low profile, how did they know I would come here? Instead of sending another hunter to take care of it?” 

“Shit,” Sam blinked as the uneasy feeling weighed him down even further. “They knew about Hotch somehow. They brought him here.” 

“What?” The Unit Chief’s lips parted in shock. “How is that possible? Nobody knew about my connection to Dean. Not the FBI, not my team, _nobody_.” 

Castiel reached his arm up to place a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “This feels bigger than Crowley, doesn’t it?” 

“Who is Crowley? You’ve mentioned him twice now.” JJ asked, her hands resting on the crook of her hips. 

“The King of Hell,” Dean told him off-handedly before turning towards the angel. “I don’t know what’s going on, but we can’t wait any longer, and we can’t give them what they want. Can you try breaking through the wards again?”

Sam full heartedly agreed with his brother. There weren’t many people ahead of Crowley in hell, and he didn’t want to entertain the possibility of his gut instinct. He wasn’t ready to deal with _him_ again anytime soon. 

“Let’s check the back,” Sam suggested. “Maybe the demon is waiting for one of us to try.” He narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Stay here. Do _not_ call the First Blade.”

Dean scowled at him and pushed at his shoulder. “Bitch. I won’t. Keeping my hands clean from here on out, remember?”

“Jerk,” he shot back immediately, before nodding. “We’ll give you a signal if we get through.”

“I’ll come with you,” Hotch offered. Sam agreed before Dean could open his mouth to argue. The Unit Chief looked back over his shoulder and made eye contact with Prentiss and Reid. “Do not leave his side, understand?” 

The two agents nodded carefully, taking their places protectively by Dean’s side. 

Sam shot one last glare at his brother and followed Cas to the back of the shop with Hotch at his heels. They crouched down below the side windows with their weapons drawn, bottles of holy water, the angel blade, the Colt, and the knife all at the ready. When they reached the back door, his eyes narrowed at the sigils painted onto the cracking brick walls. 

“Where did a crossroads demon find these?” Sam whispered harshly as he stepped up to attempt breaking it with no luck. “They are pretty powerful exclusion runes.” 

Cas didn’t answer, instead staring down the runes with a singular focus. Sam clapped a hand on Hotch’s arm to keep him quiet when he started to open his mouth, jerking his chin towards the angel. If Castiel was going to break through the wards, it was going to take some energy and a _lot_ of concentration. 

The wind kicked up around their feet with a jerk, howling in frustration as heavy clouds darkened the sunlight above. Sam tightened his hold on Hotch and a bead of sweat slid down Cas’ temple. Three excruciating long minutes passed until Castiel finally marched forward with hands outstretched and _blew_ through the back door with a resounding _bang_ as it flew off its hinges and sent chunks of wood shooting off in every direction.

Knowing there was zero chance of keeping their entrance a secret, Sam shot a round of rock salt up into the air to alert the others that the wards were finally down. He ushered Hotch behind him as they followed Cas into the shop.

The narrow hallway was painted a dark wooly grey with silver and black streaks following some sort of pattern, probably meant to look mystical, considering the demon’s choice of profession. Two rooms tapered off to the side that looked like a dimly lit office and the space where the psychic probably gave her readings. The fluorescent lights flickered above their heads, causing Sam to grit his teeth as the pit in his stomach solidified into a heavy block of ice. As they shouldered into the main area, the front door shuddered open from Dean’s quick kick, revealing the rest of the BAU agents and his brother. 

The two demons, a tall, thin, ancient woman with a bright purple shawl, multi-colored head wrap, and at least fifty beads around her neck, and the man from the storefront window standing beside her in an ill-fitting black suit, hovered in front of the unconscious FBI agents. Sam blew out a sharp breath of relief when he saw their chests rising and falling, indicating that they were still alive. Sam raised the Colt while Hotch held up Ruby’s knife and Emily, Reid, and JJ wielded either the sawed off shotguns or tire irons. Dean was still on the threshold of the door with a stormy expression on his face. 

“Surrender,” Castiel ordered in a booming voice that bounced off the walls, making the demon in the suit flinch. 

The woman, Madam Althea, simply smirked. “We have very clear instructions. Dean Winchester is to call the First Blade forward, or your friends will take their last breaths.” 

“That’s not happening,” Sam snarled, the tension that had been building up in his chest during this entire case finally snapping as he snatched Ruby’s knife from Hotch and flung it towards his mark. It embedded itself into the demon’s heart, directly below his maroon pocket square. Light shuddered through his body, crawling up his neck and flashing dangerously as the demon crashed onto the floor. 

Madam Althea thundered with a cry of rage and threw her arms outward, tossing all of the BAU agents, Sam, Dean, and Castiel across the room to smash into opposing walls. Sam grit his teeth and pushed himself to his feet to attempt to distract the demon as the angel stormed towards her. Hotch had the same idea, because he rolled to the other side of them and unloaded his gun into the demon's chest while JJ shoved forward towards the forgotten knife. Reid and Emily positioned themselves protectively over Dean and started chanting in Latin to attempt to pull the demon’s attention in a new direction. 

The crossroads demon’s face twisted irritation as she tried to keep up with everyone. She managed to send Hotch, JJ, and Emily hurtling through the air until they collided with each other with loud grunts of pain, but Sam was able to sweep crouch down and kick out, sweeping the demon’s leg to knock her off balance. Before Castiel could shove his large palm over the demon’s face to banish her, Madam Althea lifted her lips into a bloody grin and cackled. She slid a small switchblade out of her pocket and sliced it across her hand, watching the Winchesters, Castiel, and the BAU team with unbridled glee as she slapped her bloody handprint over a mass of sigils on the wall that Sam didn’t see before. 

He heard Dean’s cry, “No! Cas!” Before the entire shop was filled with an echoing bright light that had all of them closing their eyes and ducking their heads. When it dimmed, Sam looked up sharply to find that Cas was gone. 

His brother snarled, shoving forward until Reid and Emily caught his arms to hold him back. “You banished him! You bitch! I’ll kill you for that!” 

Madam Althea simply pushed to her feet, a smug smile of satisfaction twisting her wrinkled face. “I don’t think so, Dean Winchester. I believe that you’ll have your hands full.”

Before any of them could start forward or open their mouth to argue, a resounding howl, deep, furious, and eerie, bounced off of the shop’s walls. The blood drained out of Sam’s face as he spun around to see his brother staring out of the open front door, a look of grim determination set between the lines of his face. 

“Dean, _no_! We can handle it, don’t call it!” The words sounded weak, even to himself. Without Cas, taking care of both the demon and the hellhound, _and_ keeping everyone in one piece would be almost impossible. 

His brother knew it too, because he already had a hand out, his arm outstretched in a way that revealed the pulsing Mark of Cain that looked _alive_ and dangerous. 

“Shit,” Sam breathed out, allowing the frustration and fury to bubble up inside of him as he turned to face the demon who forced Dean’s hand.

XX

Aaron knew that his attention should probably be on the crossroads demon just a few feet away squaring off against Sam, but he couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from Dean. 

The hunter’s body was rigid with barely coiled tension, but it wasn’t fear etched into every line of his body. No. It was _anticipation_. Aaron couldn’t see the hellhound, but he could certainly hear it. The stench of it burned inside of his nostrils and the low, menacing growls sent chills up his spine, but Dean wasn’t afraid. One moment, his hand was outstretched and waiting for his weapon, and the next, a long, jagged piece of bone fit inside of his palm like it belonged there. 

He wasn’t sure how much different Dean could really be with the First Blade. From how he, Sam, and Castiel had skirted around the topic, they were genuinely fearful of what it turned Dean into. But hearing about it and seeing it for himself were two very, very different things. 

When he heard the hellhound leap forward to attack with a ringing snarl, Dean didn’t hesitate to dive to the side to avoid the snapping of the harsh fangs that could be heard even from the shop. He rolled onto his feet as quick and agile as a gymnast. His hazel eyes flashed in excitement as the Mark took over, and Dean became a warrior and hunter in every sense of the word. His body vibrated with energy as he threw himself at the hellhound, power and accuracy evident in every swing of his arm.

A harsh cry tore Aaron’s attention from the fight outside. He whipped his head around as JJ and Prentiss were thrown back against the wall. Reid had somehow gotten ahold of the knife and Sam was wiping a splatter of blood away from his nose as he pushed up to his feet. Aaron understood that while Dean could handle the threat outside, Sam and his team needed help with the demon. He moved to Reid’s side slowly to draw Madam Althea’s bottomless dark eyes. 

“Do you see, Agent Hotchner?” She sneered. “That the Knight is truly the monster you believed him to be?” 

Aaron shook his head, carefully taking the knife from Reid and moving to stand in front of him, turning them just so and bringing the demon with him. “Dean is a good man, one with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Just because _you_ forced him to call the First Blade doesn’t mean that he’ll be like you again.”

Her laugh was cruel and only served to set his teeth on edge. “You are a _fool_ , as is the younger Winchester and their pet angel. My master will mold the Knight into what he was always meant to be when he took the Mark.”

“I think you seriously underestimate Dean. He’s stronger than you think, and I know that he can handle the hellhound out there without losing himself.” Aaron shot back, tightening his grip on the knife as he felt Madam Althea coil to strike. 

“Misplaced hope,” she hissed, her long fingers curling into claws. “It will be your downfall!” As she surged towards him, Aaron brought up his weapon in defense and let out a grunt. 

Thankfully, Sam had caught onto the plan because instead of sharp fingernails cutting into his skin, the demon’s weight slammed back into Aaron with a howl of pain. The hunter had dumped the bottle of holy water onto the demon so that both she and Aaron were now soaked, steam sizzling off of the demon. He took advantage of the distraction to plunge the knife into Madam Althea’s abdomen, sliding it between two ribs.

It had been a long, long time since Aaron had killed someone at such a close range. With his job, it wasn’t uncommon for him to take out an Unsub with his gun, but the intimacy and strength it takes to end someone’s life with a knife was greater than he anticipated. The demon’s screams tore from her throat as light erupted from just beneath the skin, flickering for another few seconds before the dead weight had Aaron stumbling backwards. 

It was silent after that except for their collective pants. After letting out a rush of air, Aaron, JJ, and Reid dropped to their knees beside their unconscious team members while Prentiss went to help Sam stay upright. 

“Are they alright?” The hunter asked with exhaustion lining his face. 

Aaron and Reid nodded when they felt Morgan and Rossi’s pulse beneath their fingertips. “They’ll be okay, but I don’t know what the demons did to them.” 

“Cas will be able to help,” Sam told them as he stumbled towards the open door. 

Aaron gestured for Prentiss to take his place, and went to stand by Sam’s side, letting the hunter lean on him. The two of them watched as Dean stood alone outside, once again covered in blood.

Sam kept a hold of Aaron’s shoulder when he went to step towards Dean, shaking his head. “Wait. We don’t know if he’s in control again.” He then turned his attention towards his brother. “Dean? Are you okay?” 

Dean was breathing deeply, his broad shoulders lifting and falling with the movement. His focus was fixated on the blade curled in his palm, his arm shaking. 

After another few moments, Aaron couldn’t take the emptiness and struggle in Dean’s eyes and shook off Sam’s hand with a growl. He marched towards the man, towards the _boy_ he knew twelve years ago who had _needed_ him, knowing deep within his bones that Dean needed him now too. Without a second thought for the potential fallout, Aaron reached out and clapped his hand over the Mark of Cain. It was torrid beneath his touch, but he refused to let go.

The sharp intake of breath had his head snapping up to match Dean’s wide, shocked gaze. “Come back to us, Dean.”

Sam was by his side in an instant, looking at his brother with a wary, but hopeful expression. “Are you okay?”

Dean swallowed thickly. His eyes flickered back between Aaron and Sam before nodding slowly. “Yeah,” he croaked. “I’m good.” 

Sam rushed forward and flung his arms around his brother, clutching tightly as Aaron moved his hand down to Dean’s hand, tapping a finger against his wrist twice to encourage him to release the blade. Thankfully, Dean didn’t hesitate to let go.

When Sam stepped backwards, he took the First Blade from Aaron so that he could take Sam’s place between Dean’s arms. He clapped the hunter on the back and didn’t lessen his hold when Dean stiffened. Finally, he relaxed into the hug and clung onto Aaron’s back. 

“You’re okay, Dean. Everything is going to be okay. I’m sorry that you had to do that. You were _incredible_.” 

Dean shook in his hold and let out a wet chuckle. “Shut up, Hotch. I don’t do chick-flick moments, remember?” 

Aaron’s lips twitched upwards and he allowed Dean to pull away, but kept his hands on the hunter’s slumped shoulders. “I remember. But I wasn’t about to let you go without at least one.” His gaze twisted back towards the shop where Sam and the rest of the team were still waiting. “What happened with Castiel back there?” 

“Banishing sigil,” Dean explained with a dark look. “Those sons of bitches somehow got a hold of some Enochian symbols - the language of the angels. I have no idea where they could have found something like that.” 

“Banishment?” Aaron asked as they made their way towards the others. “Is he…” his hesitation didn’t go unnoticed because Dean was shaking his head. 

“No, he’s fine. Pissed as hell, I’m sure, but he’s alive. Should be back soon.”

Back inside the shop, Sam had his head tilted towards Reid as they spoke lowly to one another, while JJ and Prentiss sat with their unconscious team members. 

Only a few moments passed before the flutter of wings echoed behind them and Castiel appeared out of nowhere. 

“Cas!” Dean’s grin did little to hide his drawn, pale face, but it was wholly genuine. 

Even if Aaron was a civilian, he certainly wasn’t blind enough to miss the way those two danced around each other. He didn’t think either one had done anything about their feelings yet, but it wouldn’t be long before they did. 

The angel fell into Dean’s arms and buried his face into the hunter’s neck. Dean clapped him on the back a few times with a relieved expression, ignoring the eyes on them. “Is the crossroads demon dead?” 

“Yeah,” Dean rasped, obviously reluctant to share the details of the fight. “The son of a bitch called a hellhound after she banished you. I had to call the First Blade to kill it.”

Castiel flinched backwards. “ _What_? Are you okay?” 

Of course, Dean being Dean, rolled his eyes and gave a little chuckle. “I’m _fine_ , Cas. I swear, you, Sammy, and Hotch have asked me that more than enough for this lifetime.” 

But the angel wouldn’t be deterred. Castiel gripped the hunter tighter and stepped even closer. “I swear to you Dean, I _will_ find a cure for the Mark.”

“I know, Cas,” Dean whispered, moving his hand to the back of the angel’s neck and pressing their foreheads together. “I know.” 

Castiel nodded, once to Dean and then once again to Hotch. “I will ensure the health of your team before I depart.” He walked over and kneeled beside Morgan and Rossi before touching two fingers to each of their foreheads. Aaron watched in unbridled amazement as a soft light escaped his fingertips and both men jerked forward with a gasp. 

Their wide eyes found an Angel of the Lord moving to stand before them, and their jaws dropped open in shock.

“There.” His bright blue gaze swept the room towards the Winchesters, Aaron, and the gaping BAU team. “Be well, all of you. Protect one another.” 

Once Castiel disappeared from view and JJ and Prentiss explained to Morgan and Rossi what they missed, Aaron shifted so that he was blocking Dean from view, allowing the hunter a few moments to compose himself. 

Reid broke the relative silence with a long, drawn out whistle. “Is it over?”

Sam looked towards his brother and Aaron with a frown tugging at his lips. 

“Yeah,” he lied. “It’s over.” 

XX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is just a short Epilogue left. I'd love to hear what y'all thought of this story and chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

Once the dust settled and the BAU team contacted the local authorities to handle the crime scene, Dean and Sam went back to their motel room to clean up. Both hunters had their fair share of bruising and scrapes that Cas didn’t have time to fix, but neither one complained. Aaron insisted that the Winchesters meet back up in the conference room he’d booked out, and they were pleased to see a few boxes of pizza and three cases of beer waiting for them. 

“Dude, you are my hero!” Dean grinned, clapping Aaron on the arm and not wasting any time before diving in. 

JJ and Sam both watched as the eldest Winchester stuff his face with varying expressions of disgust, while Morgan looked oddly impressed. 

They all filled their plates, grabbed a drink, and sat around the large wooden table. Reid was particularly interested in the types of creatures they’d come across during their travels, while Aaron wanted to ensure that the boys were no longer living out of the Impala. 

“We’ve actually got a pretty sweet setup,” Dean explained as he tore into his third piece. 

Sam took out his phone to show the others pictures. “Apparently we’re Men of Letters legacies, which is an organization that chronicles the supernatural. We discovered a huge bunker in Kansas not too long ago. It’s kind of nice, actually having a home for the first time.” 

“That sounds great,” Aaron told them both with a pleased smile. “I’d love to see it one day, if possible. We’d ensure that no one was tracking us, of course.” 

“Spencer would probably appreciate the archive that we have. I even have a few copies of Rossi’s books as well.” Sam tucked his phone back into his pocket with a slight blush dusting his cheeks. 

The eldest BAU agent laughed around the lip of his bottle before setting it down. “I’ll be sure to sign them for you.” 

Dean nudged his shoulder against Aaron’s, pulling his attention. “I heard you’ve got a kid now.”

“Yes, Jack.” He dug out his wallet and showed Dean the photograph he kept inside. “He’s five now, and such a good kid.” 

Dean scrunched up his face as he thought back, “Like the kid from Sonny’s? You two were close, if I remember right.” 

“Exactly like Jackson,” Aaron nodded and put his wallet back into his pocket. “You know, you should think about visiting Sonny. You know he’s kept up with your name as well. Never believed any of it. He thought that everything you talked about back at the Boy’s Home was true.” 

Dean’s eyebrows reached towards his forehead. “Yeah? Not many people do.” 

Aaron’s lips twitched upwards. “It is one of those things that require the burden of proof. I can’t imagine how we could have solved this case without your help.”

“Well,” Dean shrugged, then looked back at his brother before returning his attention to Aaron. “You know you can call us anytime something fishy comes up, right? I don’t-” He hesitated. “I don’t want this to be the last time we see each other.” 

Aaron turned in his chair so that the two of them were facing one another. He then placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeezed. “It won’t be, I promise. I expect monthly check-ins, at the very least. Plus, Reid might actually go nuts if he doesn’t see everything you’ve got hidden in that bunker. We’ll visit soon, don’t worry.” 

The relief on Dean’s face broke Aaron’s heart, just a little bit. No, he wouldn’t let another twelve years go by without seeing or speaking with Dean Winchester, and he certainly wouldn’t let him think that he, Sam, and Castiel were alone in their fight. “You’ve also had my number memorized for God knows how long,” he told him with a soft smile. “I want you to _use_ it. Anytime you need to talk. Anytime you need a dose of something normal, or just want to vent. Promise me?”

“Yeah,” Dean grinned, wide and childlike. “I promise I’ll call this time.”

XX

**Four months later**

Aaron pinched the bridge of his nose to hold off the groan that wanted to crawl out of his throat. The case they had been working on had taken almost four days longer than they were expecting, and it took them too long to reach the Unsub. Nicholas Grayson had murdered two more seventeen year old girls with his hammer before they caught him, and Aaron would have a difficult time forgetting their parents’ sobs when they had to break the news. 

And now that they were back home, he had reports to fill out before he could go relieve the babysitter. Looking through the stack of paperwork, Aaron estimated he had about another hour and a half left to go. With a sigh, he buckled down and put his pen to paper. 

Not long after he got started, movement from the bullpen caught his eye. Aaron frowned and pushed up to his feet. There shouldn’t be anyone else on this floor, his team had already left for the night. By the time opened the door to his office, four unfamiliar agents in matching sharp black suits were filing into the BAU’s area. 

“Can I help you?” Aaron asked with an air of caution. 

One man, with thinning blonde hair and a carefully blank expression that gave nothing away, stepped forward with a manila folder in his hand. “Agent Hotchner?”

Aaron nodded carefully. 

“My name is Phil Coulson with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. I’m here to speak with you about Dean Winchester.” 

XX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who followed this story! I'm thinking of making it a series, but it will probably be a little bit before I start back on it. If you'd like to subscribe, then the notification will tell you when I post the next story :)
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts on the story, along with anything you might like to see in the future. I'm always down for new ideas!

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? I always thought Dean and Hotch would get along if they were to ever meet, so I went ahead and wrote it. Let me know your thoughts!


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